


Not The One From Delphi

by ExcellentlyEllen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass, F/M, Oracle - Freeform, Slow Burn, Summer of Olicity, another way to meet, plot-bunny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExcellentlyEllen/pseuds/ExcellentlyEllen
Summary: The Green Arrow has been protecting Starling City for a few years, when suddenly another vigilante pops up on his radar. Friend or foe, and what the hell is up with that lipstick?or, as Thatmasquedgirl would say: Another way for Oliver and Felicity to meet, this time involving tardy employees, pasts that keep resurfacing, kicking limbs and that damned lipstick!





	1. Prologue: The New Girl In Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatmasquedgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/gifts).



> Hi ya'll...
> 
> I know, I really shouldn't be starting another long fic... considering the many I still haven't finished.  
> But I've been busy over the past year, moving in with my boyfriend in our own house, starting a new job, ...
> 
> This plot-bunny though... I couldn't shake it, it kept running through my thoughts and my dreams.  
> So what better way than to write it down, and see where it takes me this time..
> 
> Let's all hope to the finish-line.
> 
> Also, I'm gifting this fic to thatmasqued girl, for always keeping me entertained, and because I sort of stole her intro...
> 
> you can find my moodboard for this chapter here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/149388194@N03/albums/72157682345605131  
> 

_**Prologue: The New Girl In Town** _

 

It was a dark and chilly night, not unusual for Starling City in February. The sky was ink-black and the moon nowhere to be seen. It had rained off and on for most of the week, letting up for only a couple of hours at a time and even then, the clouds looked heavy. The dreary weather had left its mark on the city, especially in the less prosperous parts of it.

Water from the busted rain pipes dripped down the walls lining the streets and alleyways of the Glades. It pooled in the potholes that were scattered throughout the asphalt, providing ample resources for the mice and rats that made the streets their home.

The people who were unlucky enough to be out – not that there were many - were all decked in heavy raincoats and hidden underneath umbrellas or hiding away in doorways and alcoves. All, except two.

The first one had been a fixed value on the rooftops of the Glades for the past few years. The silhouette of a broad-shouldered man with a hood covering his head and a bow sticking out proudly behind his back, was something that brought out a lot of different emotions in the people of the Glades. 

There were those who applauded him, worshipped him like a hero even though he never claimed to be one. They were thankful to their emerald protector, who kept their streets relatively safe and their children on a straight path. Those were the people who had nothing to fear, when it came to the Archer. The ones who just tried to live their life the best way they could, with what little means they had.

The ones who cursed him, who whispered his name with equal parts hate and horror, where the ones who rightfully feared him. The bottom-of-your-shoe scum that peddled drugs, guns and people like it were girls scout cookies. The ones who preyed on the innocent and the weakened and terrorized the streets of the City like it was their right. They had slowly but surely begun to realize it wasn’t.

Besides those two very differently opinionated groups, there was one more whose attitude towards the resident vigilante was a little more muddled. The cops patrolling the streets of the Glades at night, often with fear for their lives, were glad for the assistance and they welcomed the prospect of returning home unscathed to their loved ones every time. The brass back at police HQ where less enamored by Starling City’s Green Arrow, publicly because he was circumventing the law and the judicial system and being his own judge and jury, but secretly because it was difficult to be on the take while somebody eliminated every source of _alternative_ income.

But, while the opinions about the Green Arrow were plentiful, everybody seemed to have accepted it. He’d been running the streets for about two years, and he was just as much part of Starling City as the Queen Tower and the Starling City Rockets now. Vendors even sold Green Arrow t-shirts and coffee-mugs with his silhouette printed on it.

The other figure braving the night without ample protection from the elements, was a petite redheaded female. Her footsteps echoed into the night, the clack-clack-clacking of her high heels giving away a hurried pace. The outfit she was wearing wouldn’t have been out of place in one of the many trendy nightclubs that were scattered around the outskirts of the Glades, but didn’t provide her much against the weather, or the unsavory elements that hid away in nooks and crannies.

The black leather pants she was wearing was skin-tight, highlighting every smooth curve and leaving little to the imagination. Her snug fitting black leather hooded vest was zipped open, revealing a velvet black-and-white spotted top that was scrunched up at her left waist. The hood from her coat was pulled up, covering most of her face, probably to offer what little it could in rain protection, and her hands were tucked deep into her jacket pockets. 

The alley she was currently ambling through was narrow, dark and seemingly empty, the only working streetlight some fifty feet in front of her, at the mouth of the alley. The little pool of light directly beneath it, somehow made the rest of the street even darker and more ominous.

The sudden raunchy exclamations coming from a doorway at the beginning of the alley would have caused most – sane – young woman to pick up their pace, but seemed to have the opposite effect on the mystery redhead. Her footsteps slowed down, going from a brisk walk to a leisurely stroll.

The change in footsteps and the fact that she was nearing a fairly unsavory crowd, piqued the interest of the Archer, who had been keeping watch over her ever since he’d spotted her. He crouched down on the rooftop opposite the group of men, and nocked one of his arrows, just in case.

It didn’t take long for the men to notice the woman, and it took even less for them to direct their lewd comments and wolf whistles towards her.

“Hey baby, that outfit would look a lot better on my floor.”

“Do you like heavy metal? ‘Cause I can teach you how to scream!”

“How ‘bout you bring that sweet ass over here and I’ll show you a real good time.”

Instead of walking on, like any girl with even the least bit of self-preservation instinct would, she actually stops in front of the men, cocking her head to the side, as if she’s studying them.

“A good time, hu? Well, you look exactly like the kind of guy who could really do that.” She moves a little closer towards the threesome. “Say, one of you isn’t T-Bone, by any chance?” She asks, her voice laced with an edge of worship.

The archer re-sheaths his arrow and turns to walk away. A girl like that, walking headfirst into an obviously dangerous situation isn’t a priority. He’d hate to see her get hurt, but girls who kick on types like those guys, well… they usually aren’t the ones that need saving.

As he’s stepping away from the edge, he can still hear the conversation going on below.

“Yeah baby, T-Bone, that’s me. And if you come a little closer, I’ll show you exactly how I earned that name.”

“Well, finally, I’ve been looking for you for a while now.” She replies.

“Oh lady, if I’d know you’ve been looking for me, I would have come to meet you sooner.”

He can hear her heels click, indicating the steps she took, no doubt to get closer. As he’s getting ready to drop onto another rooftop, he hears sounds he’s not expecting. There’s a distinct ‘swoosh’, 2 soft popping noises and a loud crack, making him turn around instantly.

The scene on the street has changed dramatically in the minute it took him to move positions. The girl, who he figured was just another gangster-chaser is standing face-to-face with the guy that he assumes is T-Bone, a silvery bo staff in attack position behind her left arm. His two companions are down, one completely unconscious and the other crumpled on the filthy ground, holding his hand over a furiously bleeding cut on his skull.

The gangbanger looks furious, shooting the woman daggers with his eyes. He drops down into a crouch, obviously preparing to counterattack. “Big mistake, bitch!” he growls at her, before he leaps forward.

The archer can tell the attack is going to go sideways almost before the man moves. He’s too low to the ground, aiming to grab the girl’s legs and throw her off balance. As a result, his back is unprotected, and as she sidesteps his lunge quickly, she slams her staff down onto the man’s exposed back. She hits him with the left end of her staff, and before he’s even had the chance to blink, her staff connects with his back again, this time with the right side.

Even though the hits must hurt, something the Arrow can say from experience, T-Bone crawls back up and sinks back into attack mode, this time with his fists up. “You’re gonna pay for that, bitch. I’m going to enjoy knocking you down, and then I think I’ll take you home, see how long it takes until that feistiness is eradicated.”

She doesn’t reply, choosing to instead take her own attack stance. She’s moved her staff to her other hand, pointing her hand back behind her body, the end of the staff pointing upwards over her head. There’s a moment where they both do nothing, before T-Bone flies at her again. He starts throwing punches way before he’s in range, so eager to draw blood, and it leaves him with a balance problem once again. She takes two steps back, one for each swing and then her staff swings in motion once again. She whips it forward, twirls it over her head and down toward the man’s feet. The weapon connects with T-Bone’s left ankle and he gets swiped down.

Before he gets the chance to get back up, the woman places a high-heeled boot on his chest and aims her bo staff at his throat. 

“Wow, you were right,” she says, barely sounding out of breath, “you really _do_ know how to show a girl a good time. But, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this little get-together short. I’ve got places to go and… you know what, the rest is really none of your business.” She shakes her head slightly, as if to shake out unwanted thoughts and continues, “I don’t usually do plagiarism, but I’m sure the Green Arrow wouldn’t mind if I borrowed his catchphrase, just this once. Okay, here it goes. T-Bone, You. Have. _Failed._ This. City!” She tries to growl the last words, but her voice, so silvery and sweet doesn’t go that deep. 

“Oh, wow, that was really cool. Not growly enough, sure, but I think I can work on that. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, T-Bone, you really are worse than the amoeba that lives on the flee that lives on the rats that crawl around here, and since there’s nobody doing anything about it, I figured I’d do it.”

She finally stops talking, and the Arrow kind of wonders how such a tiny person could have that much lung capacity.

T-Bone, while still pinned on the ground by her foot, isn’t much impressed by her speech though. “Bitch, you don’t know what you’re talking about. They won’t arrest me, and even if they do, they don’t have the evidence to keep me locked up. I’ll be back out in no time, and I’ll come for you, you can bet on that.” He tries to spit at her, but considering his position, mostly just spits on himself.

“Well, that’s where your wrong, mister Bone. You know what, I’ll just go ahead and call you T. You should say, they don’t have any evidence _yet_. She grabs something behind her back under her jacket, and pulls out a manila envelope. “In this little file, they’ll find all the evidence they need to lock you up indefinitely.”

Sirens start wailing in the distance, slowly moving closer. She cocks her head again, trying to gage how much time she still has. “That sounds like my cue, so I’m just going to go now. Be a peach though, and tell the guys Oracle said ‘hi’.”

With that, she removes her foot from his chest, turns around and whacks him in the head with the bo staff, effectively knocking him out. She takes out a few sets of flex-cuffs and attaches all three men to the drainpipe on the wall. Then she brings the envelope to her face seemingly kissing it, before dropping it onto T-Bone’s unconscious body.

After making sure the restraints will hold, she looks up towards the exact spot the Archer is hidden, winks and runs towards the entrance of the alley, before disappearing into the night.

He’s to stunned to do anything but stare at the spot she was just in, and when he snaps out of it, she’s gone. Curious as to what she did with the envelope, he drops down to street level to check it out and can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when he sees it.


	2. Chapter One: Working Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity has a meeting, that will end up more meaningful than she will realize. Also, Dig is a perfect gentleman, and Oliver is a douchebag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot low on kicking ass (except maybe in the verbal sense) but it’s my way of describing why Felicity is in Starling City, and how she meets our dynamic duo, Dig and Oliver.  
> Next chapter will feature more interactions, both with and without masks. I hope you’ll all forgive me for this filler one

**_Chapter One: Working Girl _ **

 

Queen Tower was an amazing piece of structural engineering. Though not as tall as most of the surrounding skyscrapers, the design and architecture of the building made up for that in spades. Instead of one giant pillar pointing upwards to the sky, there were two, slightly curved towers that gradually drew closer to each other and connected at the 80th floor, giving the buildings about 10 floors of mutual space. It really wasn’t hard to imagine it being a giant, 90 stories tall ‘O’ sticking partway into the ground.

The main lobby for the building was located on the third floor of the right tower, with an impressive staircase that led you there from the sidewalk. This feature created the illusion of the ‘O’ actually being a ‘Q’, which was obviously intentional. Not to mention it totally eliminated the need for outside signage. 

Once you got over the impressiveness of the exterior of the building, you entered it and where wowed once again. The lobby, 5 stories high and entirely made out of glass, drew your attention to the six state of the art glass elevators that where placed right in the center of the building. Each one big enough to hold at least a dozen people, they were placed in a circle formation around each other, with a concrete and glass staircase winding upwards around it.

The rest of the activities was centered around the elevator banks. Straight ahead from the main entrance, there were the standard security checks. Five freestanding metal detectors and twice as many security guards did an intensive sweep of everyone walking into the building. Scattered around the rest of the open space were a coffee shop, the reception area and a sandwich-shop.

It was impressive and awe inspiring, and on any other occasion Felicity would have gladly admired the glass and chrome construction in detail. As it was, she barely had the time to toss the cabdriver a few wadded up bills before rushing up the stairs and towards the entrance. A glance at her watch told her she was beyond late and even a portal-gun wouldn’t help her get to her meeting on time.

“Frak! Frak, frak, FRAK!”

The odd look she gets from one of the security guards by the door tells her she’d said that out loud, so she shrugs apologetically at him and pushes through the massive glass doors, into Queen Consolidated headquarters.

The tangled mess of people scurrying around in the entrance lobby should be reason for Felicity to despair, but the security guards are thorough and expeditious, so the line moves relatively fast. Before she’s even had the chance to start tapping her foot – a horrible habit she’s had her entire life, but she just can’t seem to stop – she’s through the magnetic field and on her way towards the reception area.

Arriving there, she’s surprised not to see the standard, fresh-faced and young receptionist, but a man sitting behind the reception desk. Not that she’d discriminate against him because of his gender, but he’s built like a line-backer - or so the saying goes, not like she’s ever watched a football game to know for sure… or is it _basketball_?! – with biceps easily the size of her head and shoulders you could build another Q-tower on.

He’s impeccably dressed, in a charcoal pinstriped suit, a black shirt and a burgundy tie, obviously tailored, because no standard suit could fit those arms. He’s leaning over the narrow desk working one some papers seemingly unaware of her presence.

 “Uhm, excuse me, sir, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, you seem in the middle of something.” She points to the various papers that are spread out across the surface. “It’s just… my name is Felicity Smoak, I have a meeting with Mr. Steele in,” she glances down at her watch again, “well, 5 minutes ago. Also, I feel like I should point out that it really isn’t my fault that I’m late. It’s just that I’m new in the City and your subways, let me tell you, they’re confusing. And then the L-train wasn’t running, so I had to take the P-train first before I could get on the G-train. What’s up with all those alphabettrains anyway, there must be a better way to refer to trains. Anyways, when I finally got to the correct station, the bus was having engine trouble and I’d have to wait another 30 minutes before another one showed up. Luckily, I had some cash on me or I would have had to walk here. In _these_ shoes.”

She bends her knee to bring her foot up to show him, before she realizes he probably isn’t interested in her shoes. Even though they are beautiful and shiny with the gold and black, and they are surprisingly comfortable for a 5-inch stiletto.

When she looks back up, the man is staring at her, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyebrow quirked questioningly. 

A slight dusting of red spreads out across her cheeks and she’s about to apologize for her rambling, when he barks out a soft laugh and stands up to look over the desk at her shoes. When he straightens back up, there’s laughter in his eyes, even if the rest of his face stays neutral.

“They are certainly shiny, but I can’t say they look terribly comfortable.”

He’s so tall she has to crane her neck upwards to look him in the eyes, even with her fabulous 5 inch heels. When their eyes meet; after hers roam over his broad chest first - obviously; her face must reveal her surprise, because his coffee-colored eyes sparkle even brighter with mirth.

His voice is much softer than Felicity thought it would be. There’s an underlying gentleness in it, that is completely at odds with the rest of his appearance. He’s got that military vibe over him, the shortcropped hair, the ramrod straight back, the steely way his mouth is set. But the laughter in his eyes makes him look far less like a threat and more like a protector. More, BFG than Jack and the beanstalk.

Standing so close to her, she can smell his aftershave, spicy and woodsy and for some reason, she thinks it fits him perfectly. Also, it adds tremendously to his scrumptiousness. He’s like dark, chiliinfused chocolate, in a suit, absolutely delicious. 

“Well, I’ll tell my wife you think she’s got good taste,” he replies cheekily, his mouth now mirroring the enjoyment in his eyes. 

Felicity’s eyes go wide and the pink coloring on her cheeks turns bright red as his words register. “I didn’t say that out loud, did I? Please tell me I did _not_ say that out loud.”

The security guard just winks at her and moves around the desk with a visitor’s badge in his hands.

“I’m sorry miss, but my mother taught me not to lie to pretty ladies. What I can do is help you get upstairs, if you still want to make your appointment…?” He leaves his statement hanging in the air, and Felicity is reminded about the time crunch she is in. No time to flirt with hot, married security guards. At least not today.

“Thank you so much, mister…”

“Diggle. John Diggle.” He introduces himself and holds out his hand to her.

“John Diggle… as in Queen Consolidated Head of Security, John Diggle? As in, the John Diggle I’ll be working with? _That_ John Diggle?”

“The one and only, but please, miss Smoak, call me Dig. Everybody else does.” 

“Oh god. Please let the floor open up and swallow me whole. I’m so embarrassed. It’s just, sometimes my brain and my mouth have a miscommunication, where my mouth says stuff before my brain gets the chance to filter it. And really, I can’t help it, I think it’s because my mind works so fast and thinks up so many things at the same time it’s like overload for my mouth, and it just lets the words out. Usually the most embarrassing ones first.” She takes a breath and looks at Dig again. 

“But I didn’t come here to babble about my lack of brain-to-mouth filter. So that will end in 3 – 2 – 1.” She sighs, wipes the perspiration from her hand on her pants and holds it out towards Dig, “Let’s just… start over okay? You can call me Felicity, all this ‘miss’ stuff makes me want to check if I’m wearing a ribbon or something.”

Dig takes her hand and gives it a firm shake. “Consider it forgotten, Mi – Felicity. Now, if you’ll follow me...”

The ride in the elevator doesn’t take long, and Mr. Steele’s assistant is waiting for them when they step out of the elevator. 

“Right this way, miss Smoak. Mr. Diggle warned us about your delay, Mr. Steele and Mr. Queen are already waiting in the conference room.”

Felicity hurries down the hall after the assistant, Dig right on her heels. When she walks into the conference room where the meeting will take place, she can’t help but gasp at the beauty of the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. All of Starling City is at her feet.

“Yes, the view is quite stunning, isn’t it?” An older gentleman, with an impeccably tailored suit addresses her from one of the chairs surrounding the giant stainless steel and glass table. “Please sit, miss Smoak, we’re eager to get started.”

Felicity drops down in the chair closest to her, and is relieved to find Dig sitting down beside her. Even though she’s excited to be here at Queen Consolidated, sitting across the CEO and the VP is slightly unnerving. And, while she only met Dig ten minutes ago, he’s got a calming presence on her.

“Welcome, miss Smoak, I’m sorry to hear your first acquaintance with Starling City wasn’t without it’s difficulties. I hope that will not impact your decision of joining our team here at Queen

Consolidated?” The words are spoken in a slightly aristocratic British accent, yet they immediately calm Felicity down. As does the man that spoke them.

“Thank you, Mr. Steele. And I did extensive research before I took your offer, I won’t let all of that go to waste just because the subway is confusing. If I’d let that factor into my decision, I’d be working in Nowhere Ville.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. Now, before we go over the finer points of the contract, is there anything you would like to add? I assume you’ve had the opportunity to read it over with your legal counselor?”

“I’ve looked it over and everything seems in order. Thank you for including a manageable exit-plan and 5-yearly contract-renegotiations, there were very few companies who allowed me those favors.”

“I like to think that we at QC applaud the innovators we hire, instead of punishing them.

Furthermore, the groundwork for your ideas had already been laid, so really it’s us who should thank you for giving us the opportunity of benefitting from them as well.”

The blush that spreads over Felicity’s cheeks this time has nothing to do with her wayward mouth, rather than the praise bestowed upon her by one of the most successful businessmen in the world at the moment.

Walter Steele had taken over the mantle of CEO after the disappearance of Robert and Oliver Queen, whose ship had presumably been lost at sea after a storm back in 2007. He’d steered the company successfully away from its dependence on and prospecting of fossil fuels and into the twenty-first century. QC was now a blooming tech-company who had its fingers in a whole lot of pies, such as green energy, bio-engineering, cyber and physical security and domestic defense.

It had a good reputation when it came to personnel-management and its motto of family and future resonated with Felicity on a deeper level.

“I heard Lucius Fox over at Wayne Enterprises offered you a similar position with similar benefits. Why did you choose us over them, considering you interned for them during college?” 

Felicity is a little taken aback by the hostility in the voice posing the question. The young man who asked it, the famous – or rather, _infamous_ – Oliver Queen, looks at her with ice in his eyes and apparent displeasure written all over his features. His arms, big but not as big as Dig’s, are crossed in front of his chest, and his whole demeanor screams ‘hostile’.

“I... I uhm…” She struggles to get any words out properly, his stare making her very uncomfortable.

“Oliver! My apologies for my associate’s behavior, miss Smoak. He’s been tense ever since the Rochev incident. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be this disrespectful towards you.” The look of reproach he shoots towards the young man is clear.

“Yes, I’m sorry miss Smoak, I didn’t mean to come off so strong,” he at least has the decency to look somewhat remorseful, though he doesn’t really sound all that sorry and there’s still a steely edge to his words. “I just mean, you went to MIT, and decided to get your Ph.Ds. there as well, it just seemed like Wayne Enterprises would have been your perfect fit.”

A sad feeling overtakes Felicity for a second at his words. It’s true that, for a brief period in her life, she thought she would end up at Wayne Enterprises, move to Gotham and live a happy and fulfilling life. And had the circumstances been different, she probably would have never even considered moving back to the West Coast. Unfortunately, things rarely play out the way anybody plans them, and that was that. But that story is entirely her own.

“I can assure you, _mister Queen_ ,” she says, her own voice equally cold, “that my intentions in coming here are pure. Yes, I interned at Wayne and yes, they made me a very generous offer. My reasons for turning them down and choosing QC are my own, but that doesn’t mean I will do any less than my utmost to ensure this _partnership_ is successful.” 

She gets up and leans over the table, pressing down her index-finger with every word, punctuating them.

“I understand the difficulties this company has been in because of the Rochev debacle, and I sympathize with you, but just because I happen to be an intelligent female, doesn’t mean I’ve got nefarious plans to steal this company. In fact, it’s QC that is investing in Smoak Technologies, and in doing so, acquiring 45% of my stock. If anything, I should be concerned about _you_. It’s not only _your_ name on these projects, and I worked too hard on these projects to intentionally screw them up!”

She sits back down with a huff, crossing her arms in front of her chest and feeling slightly proud of herself for standing up to such a… a… _bully_ , like Oliver Queen. Then she realizes who she just went off on, and her eyes go wide with horror. She probably just blew the biggest chance of her professional life, yelling at the VP of Queen Consolidated. No matter his boorish, caveman behavior and his obvious hostility towards her, she should have kept her cool. Thank Google she didn’t use her loud voice.

A soft chuckle, coming from her left, startles her from her doomsday-musings. When she looks up, she sees Dig, barely containing his hilarity, shoulders shaking with contained laughter. When she looks around the table, she spots an indulgent smile on Walter Steele’s face, and even Oliver Queen’s eyes have seemed to thaw a fraction.

She smacks Dig on the arm, “Was it my speech, or something I said that should have stayed in my head?” Dig shakes his head, clearly not in the right state to answer her properly, because he keeps looking at her and then at Mr. Queen and his shoulders start to shake again.

“You’re right Miss Smoak.” The VP’s voice is softer now, hiding a hint of a smile. “I truly am sorry about my behavior, it was uncalled for. You have the right to your own reasons, and knowing you’re as invested in this collaboration as we are, is enough.” He cocks his head a little to the side, his eyes studying her, although not in the same way as before. 

There’s no trace of hostility anymore, his eyes now showing interest and curiosity, rather than distaste and opposition. Although it’s a big step up from 30 minutes ago, Felicity is a rather … _complicated_ woman and she keeps a grudge.

“I’ll try to keep the caveman contained from now on. But, just one more question. How does one go about worshipping _Google_?”

 


	3. Chapter Two: Uptown Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver duke it out over coffee... sort of.  
> Also, Felicity lectures, and Oliver doesn't say 'I told you so'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people!  
> Because I’m such a nice girl, I decided to post the next chapter a little bit earlier. Maybe a small part because I don’t have the time to post it this weekend. This does not mean however, that next one will be early too…  
> Still not much action here. Just Oliver and Felicity seizing each other up… but I’m hinting at action to come.  
> Also, next chapter our other favorite billionaire playboy will make an appearance, and Dig is mean to Oliver…  
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> This is currently un-beta’d, so please, if you find any mistakes, tell me.

**_ Chapter Two: Uptown Girl _ **

It takes exactly 30 seconds in the elevator and 248 steps to get from Felicity’s office on the 88th floor, to Oliver Queen’s, 3 floors down. Felicity knows this, not because she’s got some kind of obsession with distances, but because in the two weeks since Smoak Technologies moved into Q-Tower, she’s had to walk the path over a dozen times.

While that in itself wasn’t really weird, considering he was her QC _liaison_ for the joint venture, her visits weren’t exactly work-related. Or at all pleasant.  
And every time Felicity had to walk the distance, _again,_ she got a little more ticked off about it.

She tried to keep her annoyance about the whole thing down, but she couldn’t hide it from Suzannah, Oliver’s assistant. Felicity had been by so much already, she was on a first name basis with the 48-year-old mother of 3.

“Felicity, good to see you again,” Suzannah starts, before noticing the Styrofoam cup in Felicity’s hand, and the absolute murderous look on her face. “Oh no… Not _again._ ”

Felicity nods vehemently. “Yes, again. How many does that make this week?”

“I don’t understand why he keeps sending those up, he knows you always return them, untouched.”

Felicity pinches her nose with her left thumb and index-finger. “You know, I’m starting to think he does it _because_ I keep returning them. It’s like a game to him, and I’m the one in the catch 22. If I don’t return it, he’ll think I’ve surrendered.When I do return them, he knows he’s getting under my skin. No matter what move I make, I loose and he wins.”

Suzannah shakes her head and takes the cup from Felicity. “At least he’s listening to you. That first time, you told him you didn’t like coffee and the next time he got you tea. And when you said you hated tea, you got smoothies. I haven’t seen Mr. Queen try so hard at something since… well, honestly, I haven’t seen him try so hard at anything, period.”

“I just wish he would stop this childish act. He’s got this idea stuck in his head that we’re in some sort of _competition_. I swear, when he sees me walk up the steps to the building, he picks up his pace, just to get to the door before me. It’s tiring to say the least, especially since I really don’t _want_ to play. I just thought I could return the coffee, he’d get the hint and leave me alone. But no, leave it to Oliver Queen to turn everything into a damned contest.”

Oliver’s assistant shakes her head in sympathy. “You know, when I started working here, he was about 10 years old, and I remember him and the Merlyn boy running around the halls and turning everything into a race. How many doors could they knock on in one minute, how much soda could they drink without going to the bathroom, those kinds of things. It got so bad that Mr. Queen made them organize the supply closet, but of course they turned that into a competition as well. I guess he never grew out of it.”

She shrugs her shoulders and lifts the lid off the cup and to smell the contents. “Oh, I see he started on the seasonal drinks. These pumpkin spiced lattes from downstairs are absolutely to die for.” Felicity knows Suzannah’s trying to calm her down by changing the subject, but she doesn’t mind. She needs to get back to work anyway, and anger tends to make her more judgmental, which is not a good thing while she’s going through personnel-files.

She sighs and says, “You’re right,” to more than just the coffee-comment, “it does smell delicious. I’ll have to try one later, then. Can you let him know I returned it?”

Suzannah shakes her head in agreement, and waves goodbye while Felicity turns around and heads towards the elevators again.

She’s halfway back to her office, tapping her foot on the elevator floor, when she changes her mind and presses the button for the lobby. The smell of that latte gave her a craving for it, and damn it, she deserves a little break.

She’d been sifting through all the QC employee records for almost two weeks to find possible matches for the employee-profiles she’s looking for. Since QC is footing the bill for Smoak Technology’s payroll, they asked her to look internally first, before publishing job-openings on employment websites. After all, the cost will be less if they just shifted staff around internally than if they were to employ all new personnel.

While the work is important for the future of her company and the joint venture, it’s also draining and headache-inducing. And a little caffeinated, afternoon pick-me-up is just what the doctor ordered.

The ride down to the lobby is fast and before she knows it, her heels are clicking on the marble on her way to the coffee-shop. Mercifully, the line is short, and she doesn’t even have the chance to examine the menu properly, when it’s already her turn.

“What can I get you, miss?”

“Uhm… I’ll, uh…” she squints at the menu-boards behind the counter, but those letters are ridiculously small, “I’ll have the pumpkin spice latte, I guess.” Because she doesn’t really know what kinds of drinks they make here, she figures going with the one she smelled earlier is the way to go.

The barista turns around to fix her drink.

“Felicity.” The voice behind her is awfully familiar, and not exactly welcome at the moment, but she plasters on a fake smile before she turns around.

“Oliver.” She simply says, because she’s not in the mood for pleasantries with him at the moment. He’s been trying to get under her skin for the past two weeks, and she’s about ready to burst. Which would not be ideal in the lobby of _his_ company.

“I thought you didn’t like coffee.” The tone in which he says it is mocking, and there’s a devious glint in his baby-blues.

The barista calls her name and she accepts her hot, delicious beverage before answering him. “Well, what I actually meant was, I don’t like _your_ coffee.”

She takes a sip and sighs happily, the smell of nutmeg and cloves wafting upwards. It makes her reminiscent of winters with her mother in Vegas, when they pretended to live in an igloo in the living room and make s’mores on a gaslight in backyard.

She pulls herself back in the here-and-now, because the middle of a verbal face-off with a self-centered, crazy-competitive, whiny billionaire is not the best time to reminisce about home.

Oliver just huffs indignantly at her statement. “What do you mean, you don’t like _my_ coffee? It’s the exact same damn coffee, Felicity.”

She moves to walk by him while shaking her head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Oliver.  
Yours has this … peculiar aftertaste. Very _bitter.”_

When she’s back in the elevator, she mentally fist-pumps, because once again, she’s bested Oliver Queen. And, while he’s sure to retaliate, he still can’t take away this intense feeling of _victory_ she’s feeling. So maybe she’s starting to get into the competitive thing after all, sue her.

 

 

The thought of all the work that’s waiting for her on the 88th floor is daunting, and she wishes there were such creatures as elves or leprechauns to take over for her, but even though she might want to sometimes, she doesn’t live in a fantasy novel.

Wasting no time in starting again once the elevator drops her back on her deserted floor she moves across the open space, empty desks casting long shadows on the clean tile floor and plops back down in her chair. She’ll be happy, and a lot less creeped-out when the place is filled with people and noise. But it won’t get filled if she doesn’t buckle up and dive in again. She’s already sorted through about 85% of the relevant employees, mainly from IT, engineering, security, R&D and bio-science, so now the only thing that’s left are supporting staff members.

She’s sort of tempted to steal Suzannah away from Oliver, but figures its bad form, and she’d hate to put Suzannah in a compromising position. Felicity likes the older woman too much to do that to her. She figures probably most of the supporting staff is harder to ‘steal’ away from their current positions, and she’ll in all likelihood have to hire all new people. But it can’t hurt to try, maybe pick up a lower level administrator with potential who’s willing to learn to get higher on the food-chain.

She’s deep into the last few files, when she’s startled again by his voice behind her.

“You’re still here.”

Her hands fly to her chest. “ _God,_ Oliver! You scared me half to death. What are you? A ghost? Make some damn noise next time.” She waits a second until her heart starts beating at a normal pace.

“And what do you mean, _still_ here? You didn’t think you’d scared me off already didn’t you? I’m a Vegas girl, I don’t scare that easily, I can assure you.”

“Actually, what I meant was, it’s late, why are you still here and not at home.” His voice is strangely soft, but it seems to explode in the empty room.

Felicity glances at her watch and flies from her chair. “Oh, Frak! I had no idea it was this late already. I’ve got to go! If I hurry I could still catch the last train home.” She gathers her coat and purse quickly, and hurries towards the elevator. The mess she left behind can wait until tomorrow, because she really can’t afford to take a cab back home.

Oliver follows her to the elevator. “I can drive you.” He suddenly says.

Felicity blinks.

He sighs, puts his hands in his pockets and leans casually against the side of the elevator, the picture perfect rich-boy pose. “I know I haven’t been the most… _hospitable_ person to you over the past few weeks.” He gives her a sort of sheepish look. “And I admit I might have gone a little overboard with the coffee thing. So, please, let me at least drive you home, as a peace offering. Besides, my mother would kill me if she ever found out I didn’t offer. It’s bad manners, you know.”

The smile he gives her seems genuine, and he’s got this kind of boyish charm that, when he uses it, would make any young, healthy and sane woman a little weak in the knees. Felicity can understand why _this_ version of Oliver Queen, the friendly and open one, had so many women wrapped around his rich and idle fingers. Still, he’s been on her case ever since she arrived at Queen Consolidated and she’s having a hard time trusting him, charming or not.

“You think I’m charming? Good to know.” His smile widens, and his eyes sparkle with a devilish kind of humor.

Felicity’s cheeks color instantly and she mentally counts to three to compose herself. “Don’t read anything into it, Queen. You’ve got your moments, that’s all.”

They arrive down in the lobby and Oliver holds open the elevator doors so she can get out easily. He’s looking at her expectant, as he twirls his keys around his index finger

“So? Am I driving you or…?” he leaves the question hanging in the air. Felicity glances at her watch again and sighs. She’s missed the last L-train and she really doesn’t have the money to pay for a cab-ride all the way into the Glades, not when she already splurged by buying that latte. She studies Oliver for a few moments, weighing his honesty against the crap he’s pulled, and decides she doesn’t really have a choice.

“Fine,” she sighs, “let’s go.”

Of course, Oliver Queen drives a ridiculously flashy and expensive car, built for speed rather than comfort. It’s very low to the ground, and Felicity had a little trouble getting seated without flashing Oliver. The bucket-seat was dark leather that looked very fancy, but felt like she was sitting on a stone boulder instead of in a half a million-dollar car.

When she told him her address she was a little surprised he didn’t need to enter it into the fancy looking built-in GPS system, but then again, Starling City was Oliver’s home turf.

They’d been driving in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while, when Oliver suddenly slows the car down a fraction.

“So, you usually take the subway to QC?” There’s a hint of dislike in his voice.

Felicity nods. “Yup, the subway is about a block away from my apartment and I walk the last bit. It’s really not that big of a deal Oliver, hundreds of thousands of people walk home from work every day. And sure, my place might not be super fancy, and admittedly, the walls are very thin. But I’ve got an amazing couch, Netflix and some bad ass noise-cancelling earpieces. Which I happen to have designed myself, I might add. Not to mention 5 deadbolts and a slide lock. I’d pay the burglar who gets through all that the rest of my start-up cash.”

Oliver sighs. “I’m not opposed to the subway Felicity. Contrary to what most people believe, I’m not that much of a snob.” Felicity snorts at that, while she runs a hand over the dash of the billionaire’s toy. “My mother bought me this car. Honestly, I’d have preferred a slightly less… _conspicuous_ car, but I won’t break her heart by returning it. She still holds on to the old Oliver Queen, and he would have loved this kind of thing.”

Felicity finds it slightly disturbing he’s talking about himself in the third person, but she gets the sentiment. He’s changed in the time he’s been away, and while she didn’t know the old Oliver Queen (thankfully) even she can see subtle differences. Even if he tries really hard to be an obnoxious pain in the ass.

There’s a guardedness in his eyes most of the time, underlying to all the other emotions that flash through them. He seems acutely aware of his surroundings at all times, even when he’s seemingly at ease, like he is right now. And while he’s still a bit of a ladies’ man, he isn’t the man-whore with the serial killer haircut he once was. Felicity might not always like Oliver, but she can see he’s trying.

“Serial killer hair?!” There’s mock indignation in his voice, like he’s come to accept the fact that _Ollie_ Queen, the man-boy he was before his _experiences,_ really was a douche-bag.

“Oliver,” she says, and his eyes snap to hers immediately. “We’re here.”

“You live here?” He looks out the window dubiously. “This is like, the worst part of a very bad neighborhood. I think there was a meth-lab explosion a little down the road from here, like, last week.”

“Three days ago, actually.”

“Exactly! Why in the hell would you voluntarily live here? I’m sure that with what we’re paying you, you could afford a place in a nicer neighborhood. Or at least a halfway safe one.”

Felicity stares at him with her mouth slightly ajar. Just when she was starting get a slightly better opinion of him, he goes and ruins it again. “What you’re _paying_ me? Did you actually just… _wow_ … that’s….” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Did you even read the contract we signed two weeks ago, or did you just go _‘Walter knows what he’s doing, I’ll just sign and get it over with_ ’?”

Oliver shrugs, “Well… Walter _does_ know what he’s doing.”

Felicity actually, real-live face-palms at that. “So, what you’re saying is that, if somebody you trust reasonably well, pushed a piece of paper under your nose, you’d just go _‘okay’_ and sign it? That might be the stupidest, most irresponsible thing I’ve heard since… scratch that, I’ve never heard of anything that idiotic.”

“Hey,” he starts in defense, his mouth in a tight frown, bus she continues like he hasn’t spoken. “Oliver, you’re a VP in a fortune 500 company. Your stock price right now might not be at the highest it’s ever been, but it’s slowly climbing back up. The Queen name also took some hits recently, but that’s also steadily getting better again, especially with your commitment to the company. But that also means you’ve got an enormous responsibility, to your shareholders _and_ your family. If somebody were to let you sign something without you reading it first, it could have catastrophic consequences. Not just for QC and your family, but for everybody that’s linked to it. Including yours truly. So please, do me _and_ yourself a favor, read a contract before you sign it.”

Oliver breathes a huff of annoyance. “How exactly did we get from _‘you should move’_ to a lecture on proper business managing?”

Felicity shakes her head once more. “You said I should get a better place with what you’re paying me. If you’d read the contract, you would know that QC doesn’t actually pay me anything.”

Oliver’s mouth drops in surprise. “We don’t pay you? What?!”

“Well, you don’t in the technical sense of the word. I’m not on QC payroll and I don’t get a monthly paycheck.”

“Your company invested in mine by buying 30% of Smoak Tech. owernship in cash, and a further 15% in office space, equipment and personnel costs. Since my company is only worth the patents I registered, basically just notes in a notebook, that 30% is basically nothing and the cost of office and personnel will soon be higher than the actual cash amount.”

“The cash QC invested doesn’t go to me personally though. I need to use it for things like source materials and licenses and testing. I pay myself a minimum monthly amount, so I can have a roof over my head and food on my plate, but that’s all. I’m even sort of defaulting on my student loans at the moment. Hell, that 19-year-old airhead in the QC mailroom probably makes more money than I do at the moment.”

“And that won’t change until Smoak Tech. actually produces and sells something. At that point, I will take on my personnel costs myself and a while after that I’ll either move out of Q-tower, or start paying rent. I’ll also pay dividends to QC and any other stakeholders that I might have by then.”

“So, in short, no, I really can’t afford to live somewhere… less dangerous.”

“Uh… Okay, I guess. I’m just not really comfortable with the idea of you living all the way out here.”

Felicity huffs. “Good thing you don’t need to be comfortable with it. I’m a big girl, Oliver. I can take care of myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, she opens the car door and slowly walks towards her building, showing Oliver she’s not concerned about anything.

**2 weeks later**

She’s working on the last interview reports in order to go over them with Oliver in the morning, when he appears behind her.

“Felicity.”

While she still startles when he suddenly pops up behind her, she’s no longer annoyed about it. In the weeks since he dropped her at her apartment they’ve built up a good report, and there might even be a tentative friendship growing between them. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

“Yes, Oliver?” she replies distractedly, while typing another few words.

“It’s late again.” She might be mistaken, but she thinks there’s a smile hiding in his tone.

“No. You’re wrong. I just looked at my clock and it was only…” she looks at the digital timestamp on her computer screen again “… twelve.” She deflates and drops her head on her desk. “Oh _god_. I swear I was keeping time, it’s just, I wanted the files to be perfect for our meeting tomorrow. I must have lost track, again.”

He laughs a little. “No worries, Felicity. Let’s get your things and I’ll get you home safely.”

The ride home is fast, and before Felicity knows it, he’s opened the car door for her. “Oliver,” she chides, “I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door.”

“I know you are, but I read somewhere that the Green Arrow stopped 4 muggings on this street over the past week, and I’d rather you get in your apartment in one piece, so please, humor me.”

It’s true that there has been an increase of violence that seemed to spread out from the docks and slowly made its way through the Glades. The troubling part was that it all seemed to focus on females around the age of 25. Felicity strongly suspected it to be linked to the human trafficking ring operated by Pavel Bezdek, a Czech mafia-wannabe who wanted to make a name for himself in Starling.

She found out about him when she was looking into the underground hacker group Helix, who’d been responsible for a lot of the recent ransomware viruses out there. Since she’s got no stomach for dealings such as the sale of human beings, she’d put Helix on the back burner and dug into Pavel. Everything she found out seemed to suggest Pavel is holed up somewhere at the Starling City docks, but the area is far too large for her to investigate, at least until she can narrow her search down some.

Even though she knows all this, and she can absolutely take care of herself, she allows Oliver to walk her up the stairs to her apartment. Its more for his peace of mind than hers, but he’s been nice enough to drive her home for the second time in as many weeks, and it’s sort of sweet, in a testosterone laden, _I’m the man and I’ll take care of this_ kind of way.

They walk up the stairs in comfortable silence, and while they’re making their way towards the back of the hallway, Oliver suddenly holds out his arm.

“Felicity,” he whispers, “which door is yours?”

“Uhm, the last one. Why?” She whispers as well, even though she doesn’t know why he’s doing it. It’s not like anybody in her building ever thinks about the neighbors when they’re screaming their heads off at all hours of the night.

He doesn’t answer her, instead he motions for her to stay back as he sneaks closer to her door. She wants to ask him what he’s doing, creeping through her hallway like that, when he reaches her door and pushes it open.

Felicity is sure she locked it tightly that morning, all 5 deadbolts and the slide lock as well. As she moves closer to her door, she can see what alarmed Oliver. Her entire door looks like Swiss cheese, with holes the size of baseballs that blew out all five of her locks.

She vaguely wonders why somebody like Oliver Queen would voluntarily walk into a room where there where possible gangsters with big-ass shotguns, but the biggest part of her brain is trying to process what she sees.

Everything in her apartment is either tossed on the floor, ripped open or broken. Every dish she has is lying in a thousand pieces on her kitchenette floor, her sofa and bed are cut open and all the stuffing is spread on every available surface.

Seeing her apartment like this breaks Felicity’s heart, and Oliver mistakes the tears in her eyes for fear instead of the sadness and anger she actually feels. He’s horrified as well, but there’s a little glint in his eyes that makes it obvious he really wants to say _‘I told you so’_ but knows now is not the time.

And because he’s a man and they usually don’t know how to deal with tears, he goes “Looks like you’ll be losing a lot of capital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find my moodboard on my flickr account:  
> https://www.flickr.com/photos/149388194@N03/albums/72157684720717246


	4. Chapter 3: Hollaback Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver find themselves in a bit of a strange situation, and things escalate on the vililante front. 
> 
> Also, Tommy finds the duo in sort of a compromising situation and makes his own assumptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, for your reading pleasure.  
> This is the last chapter before the action really starts.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

They are almost halfway back to the City but Felicity isn’t exactly sure why she’s still in the car. She’d been adamant and strong in her desire to stay in her _own_ apartment, and yet, she was in his car again.

She takes a breath and tries again. “Oliver. This really isn’t necessary. I’ll be just fine in my place. Nothing was taken and they obviously didn’t think my tv was worth anything. I honestly don’t think they’ll be back again.” She can see Oliver’s hands tighten around his steering wheel and she knows she’s said the wrong thing.

“ _Exactly_ Felicity. They didn’t take anything. But they did cut open your couch and your matrass. So, either they were looking for something specific, or they were angry they couldn’t find anything of use. Either way, they might come back and ‘ask’,” he doesn’t actually use his fingers to air-quote, but she can hear it in his voice, “you for whatever it is they want.”

He huffs out a harsh breath. “And what if they were after _you_? Did you even think about that? There have been attacks on young women in your neighborhood for the past few weeks, obviously with the intent of kidnapping the women. If the Green Arrow hadn’t been there to stop them, 4 women would have been missing right now. You could have been the fifth.”

Felicity feels a familiar stab of guilt when he reminds her _again_ about the attacks. She was supposed to protect the girls in her neighborhood, she was the one who was onto Pavel and his nefarious dealings. But it had been the Green Arrow who’d saved the day. Not that she was jealous of him. No, she was thankful he’d been there – even though he hadn’t been spotted in her neighborhood before two weeks ago – and stopped the attacks. She felt guilty because she hadn’t been doing _her_ job. Well, not her night job.

She’d been so busy with Smoak Tech and finding out information about Pavel, she’d neglected her duty on the streets, protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. It was the whole reason why she did what she did. She had once been someone not able to protect herself, and she’d faced the horrible consequences of that, she still had the scars to remind her.

“I can honestly protect myself, Oliver.” He looks at her from the side of his eyes, and there’s doubt clouding the deep blue. She should feel indignant about it, but she’s a 5”4’ blonde female who weighs about a hundred pounds soaking wet. People underestimate her, a lot.

He just keeps driving. “I’m not letting you stay there all by yourself Felicity. Not only for safety, but they cut open your bed and couch, so you don’t even have anything to sleep _on._ You made it pretty clear you won’t stay at a hotel, so there’s only one solution to this predicament.”

He slows down the car and pulls it into a sublevel garage. “It’s not a problem, and at least that way I know for sure you’re safe.” His eyes are focused on his steering wheel while he says it, and Felicity can’t really tell in the low lighting of the garage, but she could swear he’s blushing. Then he looks up at her though and there’s mischief shining in his eyes. “After all, it would only be _responsible_ to keep a QC asset safe, wouldn’t it?”

Before she’s even had a chance to blink, he’s out of the car and pulling her little suitcase from the trunk. The wheels squeak on the concrete as he moves towards the elevator, and she’s got to hurry to keep up.

When Felicity enters the loft, her mouth drops and she’s suddenly got the urge to sing an old Gwen Stefani song, because the apartment really is _bananas_. The wall facing the door is almost completely made out of glass, giving it a wonderful view of the City behind it. There’s a set of double doors leading to a narrow, metal balcony, that looks perfect for late-night pondering.

A tiny chuckle from Oliver alerts her she’s said that out loud, and her cheeks instantly heat a little. He scrapes his throat. “Okay, so, it’s a little late at night for the grand tour of the place. But on your left, is the kitchen and dining room.”

She turns her head. The kitchen is open plan, with a long row of cupboards lining one wall and a giant kitchen island in front of them. The dining room isn’t much of an actual _room_ in itself, its long wooden table more a natural extension of the kitchen than anything else. The whole thing is pretty modern and sterile, but still gives a homey vibe.

“The living room,” Oliver continues and she focusses her attention on the space between her and the back windows. There’s a big, comfortable looking sofa, a low coffee table and a giant tv above an even more giant fireplace. Behind the pillar with the tv and stove, she can spot more open space, probably a study or something of that kind.

Oliver picks up her suitcase and moves towards the stairs. “Up here are the bedrooms. They both have an on-suite, so there’s no fighting over the bathroom in the morning.” He gives her a wink and walks up the oak and steel stairs. On the second floor, she can see the entire flat beneath her.

“You can stay in the spare bedroom as long as you need to.” He says it like it’s no big deal. Like he invites women he’s only known for about a month to live with him every day. Well, he’s probably invited plenty of women into his home, just not for an extended period. From what she’s heard of Ollie Queen, he’s more the bed-for-one-night type. Or at least, he used to be.

 “Actually, I’ve never brought a woman home, not since I moved here anyway.” What he actually means to say is, ‘ _Not since my return from the Island’_ , but he doesn’t need to, to get the message across. There’s no anger in his voice, but maybe a little weariness, like he’s growing tired of the same old assumptions about himself. Felicity feels like a cartoon character, all round, bulging eyes and Mickey Mouse-pants red. She and her big mouth!

“I’m sorry, Oliver. I didn’t mean it the way that sounded. I wasn’t trying to be ungrateful or judgy.” She looks at him a little sheepish and embarrassed. “But honestly,” she tries again, “this really isn’t necessary. I can just get a new door, fix my bed and couch and I’ll be perfectly fine in my own apartment.”

He just levels her a look, pushes open a door and drops the suitcase and a key on the bed. “Make yourself at home Felicity. The contents of my fridge and the tv are all yours, and the doorman is informed about your stay here.” He walks back out to the hallway. “Goodnight Felicity.”

Then he’s gone, and she’s left beside the biggest bed she’s ever seen. She sighs tiredly, and stares at the fluffy looking pillows longingly, but there’s no rest for the wicked, and she’s got to see a man about a goat.

 

 

She waits for a while longer, making sure Oliver is asleep, before she opens her door again. Felicity gently walks down the oak and steel staircase, her shoes in her hands and her purse hanging on her shoulder.

Luckily, everything in this state-of-the-art apartment was new, no creaking stairs or floorboards, and the front door opens smoothly and without sound. When she closes it again, she takes a deep breath of relief. Doing what she did was hard enough if you lived by yourself, but if you had to hide it from roommates or loved ones… it was absolutely nerve wrecking, and it was only the first night.

She needed to go back to her place, find out what she could about what had happened. She’d been blasé about the entire thing to Oliver, like she wasn’t worried about it, but she was. Considering her _extra-curricular activities,_ she couldn’t risk anything. She had to know who had been in her apartment and if they had targeted her because of Felicity, or because of Oracle.

 

 

Oliver’s loft was located in the gentrified part of the Glades, closing the gap between the mature and serious part of the City proper, and the downtrodden, down-on-its-luck part of the Glades. It had been rebuilt after the terrorist attack that had cost the lives of 503 people, and it was now populated with the young and wealthy, who’d read somewhere that urban was ‘in’ and industrial was the way to go.

The good thing about the location, was that it was only a few blocks away from Felicity’s… _lair_ , so to speak, and she wasted no time getting there and getting dressed.

The black leather fit her like a glove, and the vest over it gave her something sensual and dangerous. Her blonde hair got covered with the red wig and her eyes with the gift she’d gotten from a friend in Central City just a few days ago. She loved every bit of it.

Oracle was ready to roam the streets once again.

 

 

“What are you doing here.” The green figure instantly raises his bow when he hears the electronically distorted voice. Felicity doesn’t even flinch.

They’re standing head to head in what had – only hours ago – been her living room, the low lighting that came from the streetlight near the window making the whole place look even sadder than it had earlier.

“I could ask you the same thing,” comes his equally distorted voice.

Felicity shrugs. “Professional curiosity?” Her eyes roam over what is left of her home, but there isn’t anything that stands out to her.

His eyes narrow at her. Or at least, that’s what she thinks he’s doing, since she can’t actually see much of his face.

“How do I know this isn’t your doing?” his modifier makes his voice sound growly and gravelly, and Felicity tries to memorize the tone for later. She might need it in again in the future.

She replies like he had, only minutes before. “I could ask you the same thing.” Her voice holds a challenge, one he doesn’t seem to appreciate or have a reply to.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and Felicity’s eyes fly over the stuff in her home again and again, but nothing. They say insanity was going the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

“Why are you here?” he suddenly asks her, and she instinctively knows he’s not referring to the apartment.

“I go where I’m needed.”

“You’re not welcome here. This is my city, and I’ll keep it safe.”

She snorts. “You and I have very different definitions of _safe_. In case you’ve forgotten, ‘your’”, she air-quotes with her fingers, “city has been the victim of not one, but _two_ megalomaniacs in the time you’ve been running these streets. So, maybe you should move over and let some new blood take charge for a change.”

Her words strike a chord with him and before she knows it, an arrow whooshes past her ear. It seems she’s gone too far with the taunting, something she really needs to work on. If it’s a fight he wants though, she’ll give him one. His testosterone won’t scare her off, she’s got work to do.

Felicity reaches for her two staves and knocks two arrows from the air before connecting them and dropping into fight stance.

They circle around each other, seizing the other up and then the game is on. Her bo staff twirls through the air and there’s a metal clang when it hits his bow, blocking her swing. His fist comes towards her but she darts away.

The intensity of the fight escalates, and the blows come faster. She hits him in the jaw and lands a few hits on his ribs. He’s bigger and stronger than she is, but she’s faster. Even so, he lands a couple good punches and she can feel the bruises form while she’s retreating.

They’re both bloody and breathing hard and Felicity is suddenly struck by the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Whether he realizes it or not, they’re on the same side and fighting each other is not productive.

She swipes suddenly with her staff, and he’s caught unawares. His back hits the floor and before he gets back up, she’s got her staff at his throat.

“We’re not enemies, Arrow.” She whispers, before turning and fleeing the scene.

 

There’s a rhythmic, pounding sound coming from somewhere, shaking her from her sleep with a frown. After she’d ‘dropped off’ Oracle at her hide-out, she’d gone back to the loft and gone straight to bed. Her arms and stomach had started to turn blue already, and she had difficulty breathing. Probably some busted ribs. She’d slept badly, tossing and turning both from worry about the break-in and because of the pain, but around sun up she’d finally fallen into a light sleep. Which was now being disturbed by the pounding.

She gets up with a groan, and heads towards the sound.

“Keep it the hell down, will ya.” She growls while opening the front door.

The dark-haired man standing in front of her is quiet at once. His jaw falls open and his eyes roam over her fairly naked form.

She’s ‘dressed’ in a men’s shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the hem falling somewhere mid-thigh. It’s the first thing with sleeves she’d located before coming down the stairs, but she suddenly realizes how it must look to the familiar stranger standing in front of her.

He seems to find his voice again, and there’s a smile on his face when his eyes meet up with hers. “Well hello there, mysterious and beautiful stranger. I must be mistaken, but I could swear this was my best friend’s place.” He leans his shoulder against the doorpost. “I seem to be wrong, but happily so. What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Felicity opens her mouth to react, strangely flattered and amused by this man, who is – very publicly – engaged to the daughter of an SCPD Captain. But before she can get in a word edgewise, Oliver’s arm appears above hers, holding onto the door.

He’s standing very close to her, and even though she can’t actually _see_ him, she’s got the distinct impression he’s about as naked as she is.

“Tommy,” he almost growls at the other man, “what the hell are you doing here at,” he frowns at the huge clock hanging from the wall in the kitchen, “10 AM on a Saturday?”

Tommy, who’s been taking in the picture they are obviously making, with her wearing a men’s shirt and him bare-chested, barely registers the gruffness of Oliver.

“Obviously interrupting something. My bad.” He raises his hands in sign of surrender. “But I’ve got something you should see.” He looks at Oliver with a sudden and strange intensity in his eyes, and Felicity can’t shake the feeling that she’s missing a silent conversation.

She’s starting to feel a little awkward, standing in-between two very attractive men, with only a thin layer of cotton to protect her, and with the silent back-and-forth that’s going on between the two.

“I’m just gonna…,” she vaguely waves her hands towards the staircase and ducks under Oliver’s arm towards it. As she’s doing this, she can see newly formed bruises on his ribcage, 4 thin lines, evenly spaced at an upward angle. Like he’s come into fairly hard contact with a metal fence of some sort. Or a….” She hurries away from the men, her mind going around in circles, trying to piece together a picture she can’t really believe.

Oliver follows her up the stairs, moving towards his own room. “I need to take care of something with Tommy. I’ll see you later.” He’s turned away from her a little, like he’s hiding the bruises she spotted earlier. She nods at him before entering her room and closing the door.

As she leans against it, she starts to shake her head. It couldn’t be. He was a pampered rich boy, basically clueless about how the real world works, locked in an ivory tower of privilege and money.

But he’d been away for years. Stranded on an island, forced to survive Google only knows what. And the Green Arrow appeared around the same time Oliver returned, wearing a disguise that fit better in a jungle than an urban area. He was strangely focused on his surroundings and silent as a ghost when he moved.

So maybe…?

She heard him say goodbye, before the front door closed and she was alone.

She thought about it some more when she was getting dressed, and while she ate a little breakfast, but it was still very difficult to mesh the Oliver she’d come to know, with the Green Arrow she’d fought the night before. She couldn’t believe it before she had evidence to support her theory, but she couldn’t very well snoop through his underwear drawer, right. Although the thought was a little tempting. Was Oliver a boxer or briefs kind of guy…

She shakes her head, not wanting to go down that road. He is her sort of boss, and even if she was maybe, a little bit attracted to him, it wouldn’t ever be anything more than that. A little, teensy weensy _crush_.

Felicity moves around the apartment, trying to find anything out of place, anything that could give her a hint about Oliver. There’s nothing really to find. The kitchen has the usual things in it, plates, cutlery, glasses and food. No embellishments on the walls in either the living room or the dining room. There’s some pictures on the desk in the study, normal stuff. His parents and his sister mainly, but nothing suspicious or strange.

The fireplace isn’t two-sided which Felicity thinks is a damn shame. It would look even better in the loft if the pillar was open at both ends, giving even more the illusion of space.

She walks towards it, thinking it’s odd the architect didn’t think about it, when she spots something odd. There’s a strange, fluorescent light coming from underneath the wall, like it’s not actually a wall but … _a door_.

It takes her 15 minutes to hack the electronics and the door slides open, revealing metal stairs going up.

When she reaches the top, her jaw drops, and there’s no doubt in her mind anymore.

Oliver Queen is the Green Arrow.


	5. Chapter Four: Run the world (Girls)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity finds a lead on Pavel and follows it. It gets her into trouble with Oliver, both as Felicity and as Oracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry this update is almost a week late.
> 
> I'm hoping you'll all forgive me though, because it was my birthday last Monday, and I got so wrapped up in all that, I didn't have the time to write or post.
> 
> So I'm giving you this chapter now, and inform you that there won't be an update this Sunday ( July second). Chapter five should come your way around July ninth, maybe a day later.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this update, it's horribly un-beta'd, so if there are any mistakes in grammar or continuity, please tell me!
> 
>  
> 
> x  
> EE

Felicity stares at the rundown and seemingly dilapidated warehouse with equal parts of disgust and fear. She still couldn’t believe that out of every possible hiding place, Pavel would choose _this_ _one_ as his HQ.

The thought alone of going inside makes her stomach contract with nausea and if it was just for her, she’d never even set a foot in the place. But it isn’t just for her. It’s for all the women out there being attacked and kidnapped. All the girls who are young and foolish enough to think that bad things only happen to other people. Like she once was, a long time ago.

She pulls her strawberry blonde wig a little straighter, applies another layer of her signature lipstick and gets out of the tiny car she rented especially for this occasion. She’s parked a little away from the building, but still within spitting distance. It’s a safety precaution, just like the false plates and the rental. If things go south tonight, and there’s a good chance they might, she’d need a fast getaway. Parking five blocks from your target wasn’t the soundest espionage plan.

Felicity heaves a big sigh, and glances at the building again. There is no other way she could get close to Pavel without putting herself in even greater danger, but that doesn’t mean she’s got to like the idea of going in there and playing nice with the human smuggler. Luckily, she’s brilliant, and the tech she’d designed specifically for this opp is fast and untraceable. Only 100 seconds near Pavel’s phone will be enough to give her access to it, and his entire digital network. One hundred seconds. One minute and forty seconds. A little over one sixtieth of an hour. She can do that. She’s been through a lot worse in a much longer period. She can do this.

Her heels click on the pavement and they sound a lot more self-assured than she feels at the moment, but if there’s one thing Felicity has learned to do, it’s play-act. She gives the broad-shouldered and beefy guy at the door a fluttery look and a little finger wave, and he motions her in without any problems. Except maybe the leery look he sends her, which isn’t really a problem as much as just creepy and shiver-inducing.

The moment the doors open, the music hits her like a ton of bricks. Some kind of heavy-bass beat that sounds designed specifically to give her a massive headache. There was a reason she never went out to clubs and the likes, and the horrible music and sweaty people pressing upon her were definitely part of that reason.

She’s on a mission though, and that’s way more important than her uncomfortable feeling. She can always take a nice long shower later.

As she moves to the bar, she glances around in the hope of spotting Pavel. She’s only seen one picture of the guy, and it had been a bad one, but she’s sure she’ll recognize him in a heartbeat. Even blurry and pixelated she could tell the man was gorgeous. One more example of the outside not reflecting what’s inside.

When she hits the bar and signals the bartender, she feels a hand slide across the bare flesh of her back. She turns to tell the creep off, but swallows her words when she finds herself looking in the dark chocolate eyes of her mark. Up close he’s even more handsome than on the picture, but there’s a cold and calculated glint in his eyes that belies the smile he’s sporting.

His hair is dark brown, with just the right amount of grey to make him look sexy and distinguished and the dark suit and dark shirt he’s wearing shows off a great physique. If Felicity didn’t know who the man was, or recognize the darkness that hides underneath the jovial façade, she’d be charmed by him. As it stood, all she could do was fake it.

“Uhm, hi.” She says, putting enough shyness in her voice to make her seem like an easy target. She knows from experience that his type of guy likes his women submissive and scared. She hopes the fake shyness and the real discomfort she feels from wearing such a form fitting and open dress is enough to draw in the evil human trafficker.

He gives her a wide, toothy smile. “Hello, there. You seem a bit lost darlin’,” he drawls, lacing his speech with a fake southern accent. Maybe that puts other girls at ease, but Felicity can feel the goosebumps race across her forearms and her chest.

“Well, I, uh… I was just,” she motions behind her towards the bar, “trying to get a drink.”

Pavel moves his hand from where it was still burning the skin on her back and drapes his arm across her shoulders, pulling her away from the bar. “I’ve got a nice, cold bottle of champagne at my booth, how ‘bout you come sit with me, and I’ll bartend for you.”

He gives her a wink that she supposes he means friendly and inviting, but it puts her on edge. She drops her eyes to the floor and nods, hoping he’ll mistake it for shyness again, instead of her way to hide the rage burning in her eyes. She understands why girls would fall into his _honey-trap_. When a guy that looks like he belongs in a movie, showers you with attention and wants to buy you drinks, it’s flattering. It makes you feel attractive and wanted, and gives your ego a massive boost. Up until the moment you wake in a cold and dreary warehouse, cuffed to the wall and sold like you were a _thing_ instead of a _person_.

Pavel leads her towards his table, and she can see his phone lying on top of it. Just one hundred Mississippi’s and she can make an excuse to leave. Felicity sits down and puts her purse on the table besides the phone. She flicks her earring and pushes a button on the side of her watch. _Let the countdown begin_.

A tall glass is slid her way, filled with the promised champagne, and probably something like GHB or Rohypnol. There’s no way in hell Felicity’s going to drink it, but she can’t stall taking a sip for as long as she needs to. Her hand moves towards the flute slowly, and the smile she’s forcing on her face starts to hurt her jaw. Pavel clinks his glass to hers and lifts it in salute, before taking a big swallow, motioning her to do the same. The fake friendly look in his eyes slowly makes way for suspicion when she still hasn’t sipped the glass, and she’s about to make an apology about not liking champagne when she hears something behind her.

“Meghan, what are you doing here?” If she hadn’t recognized the voice, she would have never guessed the man behind her was talking to her, but as it stood, she knew the voice well. Even though she’d done her very best over the past few days to avoid hearing it.

“Oliver,” she says as she turns around, her voice filled with shy surprise and the flute forgotten in her hand, “I didn’t know you’d be here.” That was true, she hadn’t returned to the loft after work, instead going straight to her hide-out and go through her plan once more. Not because she was suddenly scared of Oliver. He was one of the good guys, even if he was a little misogynistic, and she could take him. No, she avoided Oliver as much as possible, because of her damn mouth. Ever since she found out he was the Green Arrow; her mouth took every opportunity to make bad archery puns during normal conversation.

Like when he’d come down the stairs the morning after she found out and she’d asked him if ‘his flirty friend had kept him on the straight ‘n arrow’. He’d just looked at her a little funny and went on to eat her breakfast. Or the morning after that when she commented that he’d look better in a bow-tie.

She decided to just eschew Oliver after that. It had worked, up until now, when she really didn’t want or need his involvement. He was going to blow her cover, and she still needed about 50 seconds for her device to be done.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding me for days now, so that makes sense.” She could see the annoyance in his eyes, but his words were perfectly level and neutral. His frustration sparks her own, but if she wants her information, she’ll have to bite down and humble herself. So, she looks down at her feet, subtly checking her watch and pulls up her shoulders in a shrug.

“I wasn’t purposely avoiding you, Oliver.” She puts a fragility in her voice she hasn’t felt since college, and she hopes Pavel buys the act even if Oliver doesn’t. By the snort he gives her, Oliver isn’t fooled. “We’ve just been in different places at the same time these past few days.”

“Well, we’re in the same place now, and you’re coming with me.” Oliver takes her by the arm and pulls her up.

“Ollie, man, you’re making a scene.” The sudden interruption of yet another voice does little to break the stand-off between her and Oliver, with Pavel looking dubious between the two. Felicity knows her time is up, Pavel won’t be interested in a girl with such obvious attachments and she prays she’s got what she came here for.

“It’s fine, Tommy. _Meghan_ here, is coming with us.” He puts special emphasis on her middle name, obviously so Pavel wouldn’t learn her real name. He shoots the Czech a filthy look while he picks up her purse and not-so-gently shoves her in Tommy’s direction.

Felicity rounds on him as soon as they step outside. “What the _hell_ was that all about?! You don’t get to barge into a private conversation like that and bully me. I’m a grown woman Oliver, and if being your roommate gives you the right to interfere in my personal life, I’ll move out this second.” She reaches for her purse and pulls out her key to offer it to him.

He barely looks at it, instead focusing those steely blue eyes on hers. “That guy in there is dangerous Felicity. There have been more girls gone missing from this place than the rest of the Glades put together, and that’s just been the last 6 weeks. You’ve got no business being here by yourself. You could have gotten hurt. Or _worse_.”

Anger surges trough her. “I’m my own woman, and I go and do as I please. You might be my boss, but don’t think that makes you the boss of _me_.”

She turns around and stalks towards her car, her heals clicking a furious cadence on the asphalt. Who does he even _think_ he is? Telling her what to do like she’s some kind of clueless bimbo. She’s got an IQ of 195 and she’s been training for over five years. She can run circles around him and his stupid bow.

Felicity drops off the car at its lot, changes the plates again and hops on the bike she parked a few spots away. She’s still seething with anger as she pulls up to her hide-out, a slightly downtrodden rent-by-the-day storage facility at the edge of the Glades.

All she can do is hope her device had enough time to crack Pavel’s phone and upload the worm she designed, otherwise the whole night would have been wasted.

 

It’s seven thirty when she quietly unlocks the door to the loft. Hopefully Oliver left for the office already, so she can take a shower in peace before going there as well. She knows it’ll be that much harder to avoid him from now on, and he’s definitely going to confront her with the events of last night. But it’s been a long and tiring few hours, and all she wants is some time in the amazing massage-shower and maybe take a nap in her office.

“You didn’t come home last night.” There’s some emotion in his voice she can’t really put her finger on, and a tiny flash of guilt washes through her for making him worry. But then her anger resurfaces and she straightens her back.

“I didn’t.” is all she says.

“I was worried.”

“It’s not your place to worry about me, Oliver. I’m a big girl and I know what I’m doing.”

He sighs. “You’re my friend, Felicity. Of course I worry about you. You could have gotten yourself into serious trouble.”

She can see the worry in his eyes, now much less like steel and more like an ocean. But she won’t be swayed by his gentleness now, the way he acted the night before was unacceptable, and not just because of the opp he almost ruined. Oliver was used to bossing around everybody in his life, but he needed to learn that that wouldn’t fly with her.

She heads towards the stairs. “I get that you were worried Oliver. But I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need your saving.”

 

“Googledamned, I need his saving.” Felicity throws her stress ball against the wall and drops her head in her hands. She’d spent all day at the office going over Pavel’s digital presence with a fine-toothed comb. It turns out he’s much more than a cob in the Helix-network. He’s the head of their smuggling and human trafficking ring, answering directly to the as of yet unknown leader of the entire operation. As if that in itself wasn’t enough, she found an invitation he’d sent, ‘advertising’ the sale of girls and women in a sort of auction, to take place that night.

There’s no way in hell she’ll be able to stop the auction, rescue the girls and take down Pavel and possibly his boss all by herself. She’s going to need back up for something like that. And the only one she can think of is the Green Arrow. “Frak! Frak, frak, frak!”

“Is this a bad time?” a strong but soft voice asks from her doorway. Felicity quickly clicks out of Pavel’s files and looks up at Dig. Even when nothing goes the way she planned it, he can always bring a smile to her face.

“Dig! For you, there’s no such thing as a bad time.” He moves forward and sits in the chair opposite hers. “I brought dinner,” he says while holding up a big belly burger bag, “and I figured we could eat and discuss the implementation of your new security system.”

“Sure, for you, anything.” She clears away the papers and other bits of clutter so he can spread out their meal.

“Three burgers? Who else… oh.” She closes her mouth when she realizes who the third burger is for. Dig shrugs apologetically, as if to say _“it’s his company”._ Felicity sighs but doesn’t argue, it’s a meeting about the security of the whole building, so it’s only logical Oliver would sit in on it. Besides, it’s not Dig’s fault she’s upset with Oliver at the moment.

The atmosphere in the room shifts when he enters, as the cozy, friendly vibe gives way to a more emotionally laden environment.

“Let’s get this meeting started,” is all he says.

 

It had been awful. The gap between Oliver and herself suddenly seemed even bigger than it had when she first came to Queen Consolidated. They were cordial, yes, but the comfortable comradery they had just days ago, was replaced with anger and hurt feelings.

Felicity can admit to herself that she misses the way it was. Late night brainstorm dinners at the office. The meeting up for coffee at the kiosk in the lobby. She only now realized how much of her time she actually spent with Oliver, and how much she enjoyed it. Even though she told herself she wouldn’t fall for him, she knows she totally did. Maybe even more so after she found out his alter ego. He crossed a line at the club, manhandling her the way he did, but his concern for her was touching.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on those feelings, not when she’s meeting up with his hooded counterpart in 5 minutes.

An arrow flies past her face and embeds itself in the wall behind her. _Or now_.

“You’re early.” She comments in her electronically altered voice. Her fake copper curls hang loose around her face and her features are hidden behind her black domino mask. She’s in her ‘costume’, all black leather, skintight to make fighting easier, and she holds her bo staff loosely in her right hand.

“And you have five minutes before the next one goes through your shoulder.” Comes his equally distorted voice.

“Wow, you seem _royally_ pissed off.” Her eyes grow wide behind her mask and it’s all she can do not to cover her mouth with her gloved hands. Now is not the time to let stupid word-play slip. It won’t help her if he finds out she knows who he is.

“I don’t like being _hacked_ , and I like it even less to be _summoned_ , so talk now or feel the consequences.”

“Touchy, touchy.” She says, but she raises her hands in surrender anyway. “I’m gonna reach into my jacket now. Don’t shoot me, okay Mr. Bowstring-happy.” There’s only a grunt in response and a slight drop of his bow, so she takes that as assent. Her left hand reaches into her inner pocket and she pulls out a stack of files.

“In about two hours there’s going to be an auction in that warehouse behind you.” He doesn’t even glance towards it, his eyes solely focused on her.

“Why should I care about an auction?”

“It’s not about the auction, it’s about what it is they’re auction _ing_. The girls that have gone missing over the past few weeks, that is.”

She throws the papers across the rooftop and they land at his feet. “That’s an invitation, along with a _catalogue_ ,” she spits the words, “listing every girl, along with a starting price. It’s been sent out to at least 50 possible buyers, going from underworld goons all the way up to the CEO of a famous company. I _need_ to stop it, but I can’t do it alone…”

She leaves the words hanging. Felicity knows he won’t say no to her request, because he’s a hero, even though he would never call himself that. But she also knows he doesn’t play well with others, so there’s still a chance he might turn her down and try it by himself. That would get him hurt, or possibly killed.

It’s silent for a long time, and he’s tilting his head like he’s listening to something she can’t hear. When he responds with a whisper, she realizes he’s talking into an earpiece. _So he plays better with other than she realized_.

“No… Yes… Total is about 10.000 square feet… No… Because I need you there to monitor everything… _No…_ Because I don’t know her and I don’t trust what I don’t know… She’s… But…” he heaves a sigh. “Yes… Fine… I said _fine_ … Just, keep close watch, I’d rather you have my back… Okay…”

“I’m in.”

 

When the cars start showing up, Felicity knows that it’s go time. They decided to wait for all the invitees to be on site, so the cops could round up each and every one of those nauseating low-lives and lock them up for life. Some of the girls they took weren’t even of age.

They use on of his grappling arrows to get onto the warehouse and split up. She’s going after the girls and he’s going after the men with the guns. Hopefully, this mess will be over soon.

“Oracle,” he whispers when she’s about to jump off the roof and through a window, “take this.” He hands her a comm piece, and she could swear she recognizes it as one she prototyped in her first week at QC. That’s… well, she’ll deal with _that_ later.

“Overwatch, Spartan, we’re going in.” She hears his voice in stereo, both in her ear through the earpiece and behind her on the rooftop. When she hears two distinctly different acknowledgements, she realizes that his operation is even bigger than she previously thought. That man is full of surprises.

She jumps down and swings the rope towards the window, before crashing through it with a loud crack. With Oliver drawing fire from the other side of the building, she’s free to find the girls and release them.

“Oracle,” one of the voices says in her ear, “There’s about 25 heat signatures grouped together to your right, one floor down. I bet that’s where the girls are being held.” His voice isn’t masked like Oliver’s is, and she feels she should recognize it, but it doesn’t come to her.

“Uhm, okay, thanks…”

“Overwatch.”

“Right. Thanks, Overwatch.” She takes off towards the staircase and heads down, only to be thrust into chaos when she reaches the bottom. She’s behind enemy lines, so to speak, standing across from Oliver as Green Arrow, with about 12 goons between them. All of them holding automatic weapons and aiming them at Oliver. Over to her right, she can make out several bound men, dressed in suits and ties. The buyers.

The girls are in cages on the left side of the building, huddling together to try and protect themselves from the fighting and bullets that fly around the open space.

She wastes no time in attacking, letting her staff hit the meatiest man in the knee and using his back to propel her upwards. She pulls apart her staff mid-air and throws one half towards a man while she hits another over the head with the other half.

Felicity drops down on one knee and rolls towards her missing piece of staff. When she gets to it, she reassembles it and stands. The remaining men are now dividing their attention between the archer and her.

“What’s the matter boys, you can’t handle a woman when she’s not in a cage?” she taunts them, spurring them into action. Two of them are down before they reach her, felled by Oliver’s arrows.

“Thanks.” She says into the earpiece, while whipping her staff around and wiping one of the men off his feet.

Oliver moves towards her and they fight back-to-back, taking down the remaining thugs together, working in almost perfect synchronicity.

They hear the sirens coming right when the last two hit the floor, and they rush over towards the cages to release the girls.

“Well, well… If it isn’t the resident hero. Found a new side-kick, have you?” Shivers run down Felicity’s spine when she hears the voice. When she turns, she sees a man holding Oliver at gunpoint. His bow too low to be of use at that distance. Felicity can see what’s about to happen, but her feet won’t allow her to move an inch. The man… it couldn’t be.

And yet, his face is as familiar to her as her own, only slightly older since the last time she’s seen it.

“You’re messing with my bottom line, vigilante. And if there’s one thing I hate, it’s when people mess with my bottom line.”

The tiny movement of his trigger finger finally spurs Felicity into action.

“Nooooooooo….”

BANG

The bullet burns as it makes his way through her shoulder and stops at her shoulder blade. Her jacket is instantly soaked with blood and she sees stars dancing across her vision.

“Oracle! Oracle?! Can you hear me?” She can hear Oliver, but she can’t respond to his questions. The pain is so bad, it prevents her from doing anything but whimper. She can feel it when he picks her up gently, trying not to put any strain on her wound, and suddenly she can feel the cold air blow across her face.

She must have passed out a few seconds, because when she opens her eyes she’s on the cold ground surrounded by shipping containers.

“Oracle? Can you hear me?” She hears the worry in Oliver’s voice and feels the pressure he’s putting on her wound.

“Spartan! How close are you? We need to get her somewhere safe, NOW!”

“Five minutes out, Arrow. I’m going as fast as I can, but maneuvering these containers isn’t as easy with a van as it is with a bike. How is the girl?”

“She’s losing a lot of blood, fast. We need to get the bullet out and stitch it up. I don’t think the bullet hit an artery, but I can’t get a decent look at the wound.”

Through the fog of the pain she thinks she hears Dig’s concerned voice, but maybe that’s just her own subconscious trying to calm her down. Either way, she can focus enough now to know she can’t let Oliver take her. No matter what, he can’t find out who she is underneath the mask. Not now at least. Maybe not ever. She needs to get away from him and to her own safe location. It won’t be the first time she’s had to stitch a wound herself, and considering her nightly activities, it won’t be the last.

She pushes away Oliver’s hand and presses down on her own arm.

“I think I hear something. Did they follow us here?” she grunts out between her teeth.

Oliver turns, “I... I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I needed to get you out of there before the cops showed up.”

When he turns around again, Oracle is gone.

 


	6. Chapter Five: Stupid Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity attempts something foolish, and Oliver might not be as clueless as he appears at first glance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is again horribly un-beta'd and a little on the shorter side. but the good news is I've got a whole weeks worth of vacay time and it's gonna be shitty weather here in Belgium. Hopefully I'll get ahead again in the story!
> 
> Let me know what you all think, please...
> 
> comments are love!

“Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Felicity berates herself when she stumbles into her storage box. Her head’s light from the blood loss and the makeshift bandage she’d made from her shirt is soaked through.

 

The ride, on Oliver’s bike she stole, had been horrible. Between the frequent and agonizing bursts of pain and the faint-headedness from the blood loss it had been a miracle she’d got to her safe-haven without any more  _incidents_.

 

She slams the door shut and sinks down against it.

“Stupid! So stupid!”

Her head falls back with a _thunk_ and she’s not sure the stars she sees are from the pain in her shoulder or from the fresh bump on her head. Not that it matters much. If she doesn’t get up now, she’ll pass out and slowly bleed to death.

 

The wound itself isn’t _that_ bad, she’s sure there’s no nicked artery, because she would have been dead by now if there had been. The trouble is going to be getting the slug out of her shoulder without doing more damage than it did going in. Luckily, it’s in her left shoulder, so she doesn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of doing medical procedures with a hand she’s not quite used to using. At least not in this way.

 

She crawls towards her medical workstation. She’s got pretty much everything on hand. She’s been donating blood to herself since she started going out dressed in leather and swinging a bo staff, so she’s got plenty of that. The other medical supplies she _acquired_ via dummy corporations in the name of a few of the shadier doctors and surgeons around Boston, Gotham and Starling.

 

She’d been careful and meticulous in setting up this storage unit. The medical supplies are one example of that. Her workstation, with a direct uplink to the internet through QC’s satellite is state of the art, like it would be for any self-respecting IT wizz. She installed a portable shower and a dressing room. There’s even a washing machine. It’s not like she can go out and wash her _costume_ in public. Or god forbid, at Oliver’s.

 

Felicity reaches her medical supplies and pulls herself up and onto the chair. Pulling out the stuff she needs without jostling her shoulder to much proves a challenge, but she bites through the pain. She’s moving on auto-pilot now, her mind going back to the moment she realized Oliver would be the recipient of the bullet now lodged in her shoulder. Except, with him, it wouldn’t have been his shoulder.

 

There’s no doubt in her mind that the shot would have killed Oliver, probably instantly, if the shooter was a good shot. She’d frozen when she spotted the shooter though. Because she’d seen a ghost. An actual, literal ghost. The man who shot her, was supposed to be dead. No, scratch that. He _was_ dead. She’d _seen_ the body, when she was called in to identify his body at the morgue when she was 20. He’d been older, grey hair and more wrinkles, but it had most definitely been her dad.

 

He’d left her mother and herself to fend for themselves when she’d been just 7, but a mind like Felicity’s never forgets anything, let alone the face of the man who was responsible for half her genes. She’d never admit it to her mother, but Noah Kutler probably gave her the things she values most about herself. Her brain and her love for everything tech-y. She’s got her looks from her mother, and while that may be more important do Donna herself, Felicity would choose her intelligence above her high cheek-bones any day of the week.

 

She hadn’t seen her father in 13 years when she was called into the morgue, but it had been him. She’d ID-d him and she’d been by his simple government-issued grave a few times. Because, while she resented him for what he did to her mother and her at such a young and impressionable age, she had been her father and she’d felt like she owed him at least that.

 

But now… He’d been there, working with Helix, blabbing about _his_ bottom line. So, could it be that Noah Kutler, her father and a brilliant mathematician and computer-programmer was the leader of an organization that allowed young girls and women to be taken from their homes and _sold_ like meat? That sold drugs so addictive there was little chance of kicking the habit before you OD-d? That dealt in guns so dangerous they could rip through body-armor like it was tissue-paper?

 

She let her thoughts go for a moment, when she pulled out the bullet. Luckily, it didn’t splinter on her shoulder-blade, or it would have been a more serious endeavor to get it out. It fell into the kidney-shaped aluminum dish with a satisfying _thunk_.

 

She’d gotten off easy. A .99mm caliber bullet, while of course still deadly, mostly hits its target and stops, while a .45mm could have easily gone straight through Felicity’s shoulder and into Oliver, which would have made Felicity’s _not-think-just-do_ act of heroism pointless and foolish. Or he could have shot her with a .22mm, which is smaller, but usually splinters on impact, so it would cause more internal harm. She’d take a cracked shoulder-blade and a hole in her arm over Oliver dying any day of the week. Hands down.

 

Sewing up a wound with only one hand is tricky, and isn’t be as neat as it could be. But she doesn’t really have the energy, or the time, to date, so she doubts anybody will see the wound while it’s still fresh.

 

Felicity changes out of her clothes and into _normal_ jeans and a shirt, it’s a slow process with one of her arms incapacitated but she makes it work.

 

She just needs to get home before Oliver does, so he doesn’t question where she’s been at this time of night, but most of all, she needs answers. About Helix, Pavel and more importantly, her _father_.

 

When she walks into the loft, the lights are blessedly out, and she moves towards her room without hesitating. She needs to get to work, _needs_ to make sense of everything that happened that night. Sleep isn’t going to be for her, she knows that already, so she digs right in.

 

When she hasn’t found anything by 6 o’clock, she’s tempted to just call in sick to work, but because she actually _lives_ with her boss, she probably won’t get away with it. Even though he likes to pretend he is, he actually isn’t _that_ stupid and he’d see right through her lie.

 

To top that off, she’s got some serious bruising going on all over the left side of her body, not to mention the bullet wound, from the fight with at the warehouse, so her mobility is limited and Oliver will most definitely notice _that_. She needs a good excuse to explain to Oliver why she’s sore and blue. Which won’t be easy.

 

“Goodmorning Oliver.” She says as she walks down the stairs. He’s in a blue suit, sans tie, with a dark shirt. The sight slightly overwhelms Felicity, and she has to tell herself to keep her breathing normal. He’s a gorgeous man, all broad shoulders and coiled muscle. She felt that when they’d been fighting all those weeks ago. When he’s Oliver Queen, he’s all tightly kept control and rigid stance, but when he’s the Arrow, all that power comes loose and he’s like a jungle cat. Elegant lunges and strong limbs. Felicity isn’t quite sure which part of him she likes more, Oliver Queen or the Arrow, but she’s pretty sure she’s falling in love with both of them.

 

It takes him a second to lift his eyes from the headline on the paper, but when he sees her, he drops his coffee and rushes to her side. “What the hell Felicity. Did you go 10 rounds with the Hulk?” The worry oozes from him in waves and his eyebrows crinkle in concentration as he gently turns her face.

 

“Who the hell did this to you?” His voice is so low and dangerous, it reminds Felicity of the Arrow. Oliver obviously doesn’t actually _need_ the voice-modulator.

 

She pushes him away gently. “Nobody _did_ this to me Oliver. I’m just a massive klutz and I did a tumble down the stairs yesterday. It’s nothing, really. Just a bit sore and blue. It’ll go away soon.” She mentally crosses her fingers, but his expression grows into suspicion, before it smooths into worry again. She puts her hand on his arm, “I really am fine, Oliver. Just some bruises, no real harm done.” The lie comes out smooth, but then again, she’s been lying to everybody over the past 5 years, so it’s sometimes more natural than the truth.

 

He steps away from her. “You shouldn’t go to work today. In fact, you shouldn’t come in this week. You can work from home, but I’d rather you just rest and heal. The work on the new security system is happening over the weekend, and Dig will be there to make sure everything goes smoothly. Your new team won’t start until the first of May and the meeting with the DOD for the new comm-system isn’t until the 5th. Take it easy.”

 

She’s wavering between arguing with him, her sense of pride and accomplishment fighting to get the upper hand over her need for answers and revenge on Helix. But in the end her anger wins out. She deflates and nods her assent. “You’re right Oliver. I shouldn’t go into the office like this. I’m gonna take some painkillers and rest. If there’s a problem, you can still call me, and I’ll see how I’m feeling tomorrow to decide if I’m coming in the office or not.”

 

There’s surprise on his face, like he actually didn’t expect her to give in so readily, but there’s also relief and something else she can’t or _won’t_ really identify right that minute. He picks up his briefcase and moves towards the door.

 

“Take it easy, Felicity. If there’s anything, anything _at all_ , just call me or Dig and we’ll be here, okay?” His eyes bore into hers and she can only nod, her voice to cracked with guilt for lying to him, and the intensity of his stare to loaded for her to deal with at that moment.

 

When he’s gone she puts on a new pot of coffee and brings her computer down to the kitchen. She’d been diving into the dark-web all night long without any progress, but she wasn’t out for the count yet. She still had some aces up her sleeve.

 

It’s not until a few hours later, she finally finds something she can use. Just a small breadcrumb, left unknowingly, probably by one of Helix’ newbie hackers. She follows it back, through layer after layer, deeper into the web that is Helix’ servers.

 

It should have caught her attention straight away, but her painkiller had been waring off and fatigue had set in. But when she finally notices the slight lag in her system, it’s probably already too late. She flips over her computer and rips out the battery, effectively killing it instantly.

 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!!!” she screams to herself. That’s the second moronic thing she’s done in the same amount of days. First, she freezes during a fight, with life-threatening consequences and now she probably brought a Helix-hacker back into her home. _Oliver’s_ home.

 

 _Oh my god, what have I done._ She picks up her tablet and runs every diagnostic she can on the network, this time making sure she’s secure every step of the way. Only when she can’t find anything, when she’s completely sure she turned off her computer in time, she allows herself to relax.

 

The pain is killing her, and the complete lack of sleep is making black spots dance in front of her eyes. She takes two painkillers and settles on the sofa, thinking to take a quick nap before Oliver gets home.

 

Oliver opens the front door quietly, mindful of Felicity. He moves deeper into the loft and drops his briefcase and his jacket on the kitchen-island. Everything is quiet in the loft, shadows falling over everything in the twilight. He can see Felicity’s feet, propped up on the armrest of the sofa and moves towards her. She’s sleeping, her body curled up on her right side, right hand tucked under her head. He’s torn between letting her sleep on the sofa, which is crazy comfortable, but not really practical when you’re hurt, he knows this from experience, and picking her up to carry her to bed. He’s worried she might wake up if he moves her, but decides she’ll probably be better off in her bed.

 

He picks her up, one arm under her knees and the other at her back, and freezes. There’s a bloodstain on her shirt, right over her left shoulder…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter Six: The Girl Is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special day for Oliver turns very informative for Felicity. Until the proverbial shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday update-day.
> 
> Again, please tell me if there are glaring mistakes you spot, this is still unbeta'd and finished like, 5 minutes before posting :)
> 
> enjoy!

Finding out your absent father is an international criminal isn’t very conductive to sleep, or so it turns out. Couple that with nasty bruises and a hole in your shoulder, and sleep becomes elusive indeed. But Felicity’s got work to do, no matter how banged up she still is. Two days of mandatory bedrest, with Oliver calling every half hour to check up on her, unexpected visits from Dig and even Tommy, it’s all pretty much enough for her. She’s not an invalid, and the hovering and worrying is one thing, but the three men also shoot her all these strange looks.

It started with Oliver the second morning after her ‘fall down the stairs’. For the most part, he’d been sweet and concerned, bringing her icepacks and painkillers. But there had been these looks, like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. It was slightly enervating, to say the least.

And the times Dig came over, they’d had a good time, munching on pizza or going over the security specs, but he’d also ask strange questions.

 _“All I see you eat is pizza, Chinese food and Tapas, how in the hell do you keep that up while still looking like that?!”_ He’d asked her after she ate more than half of a large Chicago-style deep-dish cheesy crust pizza. She could hardly say it was because she spent most of her nights either training or fighting with scum on the street.

_“Yoga. Lots and lots of yoga.”_

He’d looked at her suspiciously for a moment but decided not to comment on it further. He’d also tried to get her to open up about her life before Starling City, the time she’d spent at MIT and the short period after that.

Felicity doesn’t really like to talk about that time. Even though she knows what happened wasn’t her fault, she’s still ashamed of it. Still feels like she should have known better, given her high IQ. But it’s true what they say, love blinds and Felicity had spent several years without seeing the truth. It’s not that she thinks Dig or even Oliver would treat her differently, or blame her for what happened, they’re not that kind of people, but she’s scared they’ll look at her with pity. Become a _victim_ in their eyes. And Felicity has worked very hard over the past 5 years to _not_ be a victim anymore. To be strong and in control.

She shakes off the thoughts and decides on a nice top _with_ sleeves and a dark blue pair of skinny jeans. It’s the first time in days she’s actually gotten dressed and she feels more like herself again. Pajama days are fun, but as the French say, _trop est trop_.

She opens the front door just as Tommy’s hand is raised to knock. She startles but catches herself quickly, trying to hide a smile. She likes Tommy. He’s so… _uncomplicated_ and free-spirited. It’s totally at odds with both Oliver and herself, and she can’t help but admire the quality. She’d give an arm and a leg to go back in time and make herself have a normal college experience, and she suspects Oliver would also rather _not_ go through 5 years of basically hell on some deserted Chinese island.

“Whatcha doin’ here, Flirty Mcflirtsome?” she asks him, and the shit-eating grin he’s sporting only grows wider. Every other word that comes out of Tommy Merlyn’s mouth is either filthy or flirty, and he seems to revel in the fact that she doesn’t shy away from it. If anything, she gives as good as she gets. Over the past weeks since she met him, she feels _lighter_ somehow. Like he, with the jokes and the innuendos, keeps some of the darkness away. Giving Oliver’s penchant of keeping Tommy close, she suspects he’s got the same influence on him.

“Just checking up on the world’s most beautiful blonde moocher, of course. Where do you think you are going, all wrapped up like a present like that?” His eyes roam over her form appreciatively and if she thought it was _real_ , she might have become uncomfortable and shy under his scrutiny.

As it stands, he’s very devoted to a certain brunette ADA, who’s as smart as she’s gorgeous, so Felicity knows the looks are all play. In fact, if she alikes Oliver to a junglecat, like a panther or something, she’d probably compare Tommy to a Retriever. Happy-go-lucky, playful, protective and loyal to a fault.

She tries to contain another smile, but fails, and his grows -impossibly- even wider at that. “I’m getting out of here is what I am. If I have to look at these walls for one more second, I’m going to go absolutely _insane_.” Tommy nods at her. “I know just what you mean, which is why I came to spring you. Let’s go do something fun.”

He takes her by her hand, the right one, and pulls her out of the doorframe and into the elevator. “So, I was thinking, we’d go do some shopping, maybe have lunch at Big Belly and go back to shopping after that. A salon will take care of,” he motions to her face, “ _that_ and you’ll be the belle of the ball tonight.”

Felicity stops. “The what of the what now? Shopping? Tommy, what are you talking about?”

He pauses the pulling on her arm to look at her confused face. Turns his head this way and that, before he speaks. “You don’t know, do you?” Felicity shakes her head. “Know _what_? What’s going on?”

Tommy sighs deeply, “Today is Oliver’s 30th birthday.”

“Shut up. He would’ve… I mean I researched… but… that’s supposed to be in May. The sixteenth.” Tommy nods solemnly and Felicity gasps. “You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding. Tell me I wasn’t incredibly rude of not remembering his birthday this morning.”

He pulls up his shoulders and starts pulling her forward again. “Don’t sweat it. Oliver usually isn’t much of a birthday-guy, so I doubt he himself even remembers that it’s his birthday, let alone his 30th. But I decided he’s been working so hard lately, and he deserves a night off. One that’s all about him. So, I invited a shit-ton of people, most of them he doesn’t really know, but I figure if I can make sure the people he really loves are there he won’t mind.”

“So, I’m one of the shit-ton then?”

He looks at her like she’s grown a second head over the past few minutes. “You really think Oliver’s the kind of guy who would invite one of the “shit-ton” to stay at his house? Without giving himself anxiety and cage-fever? You, my beautiful but slightly clueless angel, are one of the loved ones. Even if both of your feet are firmly planted in denial.”

Felicity looks at him, trying for confidence, “I’m not… I mean, he’s… And I’m… but no. Nope. Not happening.” Her words might have made more impact on Tommy if they’d been strung in a coherent sentence and she wasn’t blushing like a tomato, but then again, she found him to be quite stubborn and she doubts even the most confident of people would be able to change his mind.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that, hot stuff. Maybe one of these days, you’ll even be able to fool yourself.” He moves towards a black town-car and helps her get in. “But you’re going to need to work on your poker-face if you want _anybody_ to believe you.”

* * *

 

 

“Nope, not this one. Not this one either. Definitely not. Wrong color. Wrong cut.” Felicity’s getting kind of impatient, standing beside Tommy while he shoots down any and every option available in _yet another_ store. They’d been by 4 already, Tommy looking for something specific for her to wear, but not finding it. To be honest, she’d feeling a little weird about the whole thing. She’s always pretty confident about her clothing and usually doesn’t allow anybody to dress her, but Tommy was adamant.

“Tommy, can you please tell me what you’re looking for? And why I can’t pick out my own damn dress?”

He turns towards her and pushes her down on the ottoman in the center of the store. “Sit down, you’re hovering and that makes me nervous.”

“Well, you picking out a dress for me makes _me_ nervous.”

He gasps. “Do you doubt my impeccable taste in clothing?”

“For you, I don’t. But you don’t fool me, Tommy Merlyn. I’ve seen the types of girls you hung around with before Laurel. And I’m telling you this now, if there’s more skin than fabric, it’s not a dress, it’s _underwear_.”

“I would be offended, but you’ve got a point. However, since I’m now both older, wiser,” Felicity snorts at that, and he gives her a fake-sharp look, “and in fact in a very stable and loving relationship, my tastes have changed. But more importantly, Oliver’s have.”

She raises her eyebrows at that statement. “What does Olivier have to do with dress shopping?”

“Well, I’m throwing him the party, yes. But that’s not really his present.”

“Go on.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and starts tapping her foot.

“Here’s the thing. I can see you like him. In a very non-platonic way. And I’ve known Oliver for most of my life, I know when he likes somebody. I can’t make you both get your heads out of your respective asses, but what I can do is nudge it along a little. Which is why my present to Oliver is,” he stops flicking through the dresses on the rack besides him and pulls one out, “ _this_ dress. Or rather, _you_ in this dress.”

Felicity looks at the garment Tommy picked out and even though she still hates the fact that she didn’t get to pick it herself, it’s still very much like something she would wear. She also knows she should take offence in being a gift, being objectified like that, but Tommy doesn’t mean it in that way, she knows. He’s trying, in his own convoluted way, to make them fall in love. He doesn’t need to know that it’s already too late for her, she’s already pretty smitten with her boss/roommate. Felicity also knows it’s no use. The scars on her heart still aren’t healed and taking the risk of hurting like that again… she just can’t. She’s content just being around Oliver and silently being in love. It’s enough, it has to be.

But Tommy is trying very hard, and Felicity can’t hurt him as well. So, she takes the dress and moves into the changing room.

“I think you’re wrong, about Oliver liking me, but I’ll try the dress on anyway. Because I like nice things, and I’m not above making you pay for it.”

“But no peeking!” she jokes at him.

The dress fits her perfectly. The tight bodice covering her skin like it’s poured on her, and the asymmetrical skirt flaring out from her waist. The shoulders are slightly hanging off, and she’s going to have to tape them in place so her wound doesn’t show. It’s the color though, that makes it perfect. Deep emerald green that perfectly offsets her blonde hair and fair skin.

She’s staring at herself in the mirror, thinking that the color is striking like Oliver’s hood, when Tommy’s voice from behind the curtain makes her mind flash back to two nights ago.

 _“Oracle, there’s about 25 heat signatures grouped together to your right, one floor down. I bet that’s where the girls are being held.”_ She gasps as she remembers the voice, the same one now worriedly calling her name.

“Felicity? Felicity, are you okay in there? What’s wrong?”

She can’t seem to find any words to answer him, to stunned by the revelation that Tommy, light and bubbly and playfully superficial Tommy is working with the Green Arrow.

“Alright, I’m coming in because you are scaring the shit out of me.”

He pulls open the curtain and finds her, all wide eyed and shocked, standing in front of the full-sized mirror. “Felicity? Are you alright? You seem…” His eyes move over her form, to check for anything out of the ordinary and land on her shoulder. “Oh, we’re going to have to tape that shoulder strap down, or your bullet wound will show.” He says distractedly, while still scanning every part of her and the room for the thing that alarmed her.

When both of them realize what he’s said, his eyes grow as wide as hers. “I mean… that little hole in your shoulder that could definitely come from a tumble down some stairs.” He amends weakly, but it’s too late.

“You know!” she hisses at him, pulling the curtain closed behind him to gain some semblance of privacy. “How? Does _he_ know?”

“I… I mean… wait a minute. _You know_? How?! And, wait what?” His confusion is clear on his face, and they’re just staring at each other bewildered. Tommy shakes his head and snaps out of it. “This really isn’t the place to talk about this.” He points his finger towards the flimsy curtain between them and the rest of the store. “Change and I’ll go pay, we’ll go somewhere to talk.”

* * *

 

 

The car ride to Big Belly is awkward and silent, both of them lost in their own minds, and before they know it they’re at the restaurant.

She heads inside towards a table and he follows, greeting the waitress behind the counter as he passes her. “The usual?” she calls after him. “Yeah, but make it two.” Comes his reply.

The moment he sits down, Felicity pounces. “Okay, spill!” Tommy glances around the diner, but it’s so busy that nobody can hear anything more than the din of conversation. Still, he bends closer towards her over the table and she does the same.

“I know because I recognized your voice. My computers run a voice descrambler in the background because I really hate to listen to his voice-modifier. That thing gives me the absolute creeps. It picked up on yours as well and I almost fell out of my chair when I realized it was you.” He stops for a second. “I really didn’t see that in you, to be honest. With the tech-talk and the glasses and everything.”

Felicity tries not to take offence to that, because that’s what she’s usually going for, but still, it’s not very nice to hear you’re being underestimated because you speak geek.

“Does _he_ know? She asks him, but before Tommy can reply, a new familiar voice butts into their conversation.

“Does who know _what_?” The voice booms and Felicity looks up to see the vain in Oliver’s neck throbbing, like it does when he’s trying to contain his anger.

“This looks cozy. I wonder what Laurel will say about this when she reads it in the gossip column. _‘Merlyn heir up to his old tricks, spotted getting really up-close and personal with anonymous beautiful blonde.’_

The sneer is so unlike Oliver, it takes Felicity aback for a second. When she looks up, she sees the hurt in Oliver’s eyes for a flash, before he turns around and stalks out of the diner. Tommy looks at her apologetically.

“Go. Calm him down before he does something stupid.”

Tommy nods and moves out of his seat. Then he stops and turns towards her. “I don’t know if he knows. I haven’t told him.”

Felicity nods and he moves away, out of the restaurant and after Oliver. She can see them standing in the parking lot, arguing. Felicity knows Oliver and Laurel used to be a thing, before his unfortunate boating accident, and she knows they’re good friends still. So, it’s only logical he was very upset with the sight he saw. If she’d walked in and saw two people sitting so close together talking, she might get the wrong idea as well. He wants to protect Laurel from being heartbroken _again_. Felicity understands and she hopes Tommy gets Oliver to calm the hell down.

She gasps when she sees Oliver take a swing at Tommy, which the other man sidesteps easily. Felicity can only assume Oliver didn’t really put that much effort in his punch, for Tommy to be able to dodge it like that. She sees when Tommy’s words finally have an impact on Oliver. He deflates a little, his shoulders dropping and his fists unclenching. Oliver says a few words and Tommy points towards the restaurant, probably inviting him in. Oliver declines, gives Tommy one of those manly handshake, backslap hugs and walks towards his car.

When Tommy finally walks back into the restaurant, she’s almost finished his burger as well.

He raises his eyebrows at her, “You still believe I’m wrong about him liking you?”

* * *

 

 

“I really don’t think I should be here.” She whispers to Dig. He’s dressed as casual as she’s ever seen him, in jeans and a nice shirt, but he can’t hide his bodyguard ways. His eyes periodically roam across the room and even though he seems to be at ease, she can sense the tenseness in his shoulders, like a coiled spring.

They’re standing on the balcony, looking down at the dancefloor, in their own bubble. Surrounded by Oliver’s loved ones, his sister and her boyfriend chatting with Tommy and Laurel, his mother and Walter Steele, daintily nipping a martini and desperately wishing Oliver would arrive soon so they could give him their well wishes and leave.

The rest of the masses, down on the dancefloor, just being here because it promises to be the party of the year. Or because they all want Oliver’s attention. It’s not really Felicity’s scene, and apparently not Dig’s either. But they do it, because it’s Oliver’s birthday.

“You should be here. Among the people who really know Oliver, who like him for him, not for his money. That will mean more to Oliver than the party itself.”

Dig excuses himself to go to the bar and Felicity looks at the floor again. She’s feeling self-conscious about the dress, even though she loves it, but it stands out in a way she didn’t expect. While all other young women around her, including Oliver’s sister, are vying for the title of _least dressed while still somewhat appropriate_ , with low cleavage, short hems and splits up to their hips; she’s modest in comparison. Which suits her fine, just makes her a little bit like the odd duck out.

The gift she got him makes her even more unsure about the whole thing. Because what do you give the guy who can easily buy his own middle-large island, if he’d be inclined? She can’t afford the kinds of shiny stuff his family probably got him. The only thing she could offer him is the stuff that comes out of her brain and her hart. Which is why her gift for him was the first ever finished Smoakwatch, a watch she first designed and built with her own nightly activities in mind.

There’s a sudden flurry at the front door as the man of the hour enters and pretends to be surprised. Every female apart from those with the last name Queen, flock towards him and he’s got to struggle to keep the polite but aloof smile in place as he makes his way through the masses towards the VIP section.

“Tommy,” he hollers when he reaches them finally, “you shouldn’t have.” To everybody around them, it would seem like he was being modest, but Felicity can clearly hear the ‘ _really’_ he’s radiating with his intense stare.

Tommy, for his part, pretends he doesn’t seen it and claps his best friend on the shoulder. “For you, nothing but the best. Happy birthday buddy!” The rest of the VIP section echo’s Tommy’s sentiment and each in turn moves towards Oliver for birthday greetings and presents.

As she suspected, both his mother and his sister hand him ridiculously expensive gifts he’s probably got little use for, like a Mont Blanc pen set.

It takes the better part of an hour before Oliver finally reaches Felicity. He’s taken aback a little by her dress, his eyes roaming over her with a strangely flattering intensity.

“Felicity.” It’s all he says, but the way he says it makes her weak in the knees. It also weakens her resolve not to act on her feelings towards him. Because when he talks to her like that, looks at her like that, she forgets the hurt she’s been trough in the past, and having him near her slowly heals the gaping holes in her heart.

“Happy birthday Oliver.” She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and hands him the gifts she’s held close all that time.

He opens the watchbox, “Is this….” He asks and she just nods. The sleek watch looks more like an old-fashioned analogue one, not at all like the high-tech kinds. But the features on it are far from old school and he touches it with a reverence she’s not used to from him.

He turns it over and reads the inscription. “He who is brave is free.” He down at her. “It’s beautiful Felicity.” He stares at her for a moment, and at that point, a slow song starts to play. “Dance with me?” he asks, and all she can do is nod.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon. I shouldn’t have jumped to the wrong conclusions. I know you and Tommy better than that.” He says when they’re dancing. His left hand is low on her back and his right carefully cradles her left at his chest, in order not to jostle her wounds to much.

She looks up at him, sees the apology clearly in his eyes and smiles.

“It’s okay, Oliver. You’re protective of your friends, I get that. I admire that in you.”

He shifts her a little closer. “Thank you. For being here. For the gift. For being my friend despite the way I treated you in the beginning.”

“It’s…”

She gets interrupted by a beep from his phone. He shoots her another apologetic look and checks the notification.

“Shit!” he curses, and his demeanor changes instantly from at ease to high-alert.

“What’s wrong?”

“Somebody’s breaking into the loft.”


End file.
